That Long Windy Road

Ivette Bautista

5 years, together since the 7th grade. You get so attached that you can’t imagine your life without them. 

Everyday, at least one text, good things and bad have passed and he was still there. Countless sleepless nights where he stayed up with me. Countless arguments we were never able to see eye to eye on. 

So much unfinished business and we didn’t reach the end. Well, I guess he did, but it wasn’t happily ever after. So many things he didn’t accomplish. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He was just happy to be. That’s all he needed. But what does one do when they can’t even be anymore? 

I count the clouds in the car. I smile at him. The year is 2010 and Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream” is blasting. He’s driving his stupid convertible. I think about all the effort I put in my hair this morning. It all ends up getting blown in the wind. It’s ok. I don’t care. He’s singing; a golden retriever if I’ve ever seen one. His letterman jacket is on, even though he’s never played a sport in his life. He just likes how it looks. I like how it looks on him. 

“Why aren’t you singing? You only live once, Maria.” He asks, this cute little pout on his face.

“I’m happy just as I am, sweetheart.” I shoot back, a smile escaping me.

“Sing with me please?” He looks at me, the car drifting slightly to the side. 

“Pay attention to the road, dimwit.” I side eye him.

“Mmmmm, I have a better idea.” We’re on a long open road. He pulls off to the side and turns on his hazards. “Now can I look at you?”

I can’t help but laugh. I can’t stop. The sun is setting and it’s getting dark, but we don’t care. Time always escapes us. Our parents have gotten used to it. 

This moment, laughing without a care, was one of my happiest. We always drove on the open road, people passing us since we would take our sweet time. You’d think if we’d meet our end, it would be there. But we didn’t. He didn’t die with me. I never went down that open, long, windy, stupid road ever again. At least, not for a very long time. I had a new windy road to go on, all on my own.

The day he died, I couldn’t believe it. I was told, I didn’t process, and I went right back to school. No one asked me if I was ok. I either looked like an emotional mess or like I had my shit together. Which one it was, I never found out. 

Life doesn’t stop, I was taught that from a young age. So I didn’t stop. I just kept moving forward. I forgot, just for a second. I called him to ask where he was. The phone rang and rang. There was a pause, his voice came through.

“Hey, what’s up?” He says, laid back.

“Where are you right now?” I say slightly worried, still forgetting. 

“That’s great, but I’m gonna have you leave a voicemail.” His voicemail. Of course it’s his voicemail. How could I be such a fool? My boyfriend is dead. We’ve been together for years, and now, he’s gone. He’s not answering this phone. He’s not going to pick me up, he’s not going to come to school. We’re never going down that windy road ever again.

I’m all alone.

I can’t breathe. 

He’s dead.

I can’t do this right now.

I think I’m on the road?

There are arms around me.

Is it him?

I blink through the tears. It’s my mom, I’m at home. How much time has passed?

I’m in the car, not his convertible, but my parents conservative SUV. I’m dressed in black; time keeps passing. I barely feel it anymore. I think about that road again. I think about that one time we decided to go left on the fork in the road and we reached a dead end. He wanted to go down it again thinking there was more to explore, but I knew better. I would rather stay on my familiar long, windy road.

Why couldn’t he stay on it?

The car stops; people wail all around me. Everyone is dressed in black. I see his mom and go up to her. We hug. She’s been crying, it’s clear. His dad comes up and hugs me. He seems less affected; I guess stronger. They point me to his coffin and I head over there. I see him in all his glory, maybe even better than what he looked alive. The magic of morticians, I guess.

I look at him and it finally sets in. I am never going to laugh with this man again. I am never going to see him again. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to see him off. I don’t know how I’ll get through this.

I break down. I can’t handle it anymore. I lose my shit. I cry and cry and cry, but I realize, everything feels real again. His mom comes up to me. 

I ask, “How did he die again?”

She starts tearing up. She whispers “He took a left on the fork of that road. He drove. He was almost at the dead end…”

I look up at her, “They took him from us.” I sob even more. At least I now know. I knew he shouldn’t have gone down that damn road. What can you do? What’s done is done. 

I pick myself back up. I push through the rest of the funeral. Just like I’m going to keep pushing through life. I’ll get better. It just takes time.

–

Ivette is a high school senior from a small town in Florida. She hopes to pursue a degree in English and become a professor in literature.