November 18, 2023

in blowg

She squeezed the beaded steering wheel cover like prayer beads. In her left hand, she squeezed the prayer beads like the beaded steering wheel.

She prayed, the radio played. An old scratchy blues song somehow still deciphered from the brittle 8-track. An old, familiar hymn etched on worn magnetic wheels.

A ceramic cast of Our Lady of Guadalupe and a fat wooden crucifix swung wildly from a cord on the rear view mirror, jostled by divots in the sandy desert road.

She prayed, the sedan swayed. On the cracked and dusty dash, a small plastic statue of Saint Francis. Next to it, an Elvis bobblehead. Glued beneath the stereo controls, a monochrome photo of a man in Roy Orbison sunglasses and a dark jacket. Her Jim, now gone. Photographed in this same desert, same Joshua trees whipping by.

She prayed, the road frayed. Accident or not, she let go. Crossed herself one last time, as the 1967 Plymouth Belvedere cut the corner, clipped the rusted guardrail and drove her straight to Heaven.

Originally published in Little Somethings Issue 01

Previous post: