Careening

I sat in the passenger seat with my legs hugged into my chest. Smoke and sweat were thick in the car, encasing me in a bubble I couldn’t escape. I remember being afraid, and looking at him; the blonde hair, blue eyed teenager that had too much testosterone coursing through his veins. He was short and not at all like a man, just a boy making boy mistakes and me at the mercy of his hormones; the end of his nerves. I felt defenseless as the car roared down the road.

Much like the feeling of a life that is careening out of control and there is no way to stop it. *crashing *crashing *crashing.

 I remember when the fires happened. The mountain was completely entrenched in a lethal red, inflaming anything and everything in its path. And me a helpless person, running, running, running-- Running from terror. Running from the reality that my life was being engulfed by smoke, and I was being driven out. The fire and the boy have something in common, they both sent me careening into directions I didn’t want to go. I became a dog licking my wounds under their powers.