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He apologizes for smelling like gasoline. She just smiles and says, "Don't worry about it."
What she doesn't say is that she loves the smell of gasoline on a man's hands because it reminds her of being six years old and hiding behind her dad's legs every other week at the garage while he and his friends revved engines, talked shop, and smoked Kools. It reminds her of the racetrack, holding her brother's hand and stuffing her mouth full of Bit-o-Honeys while her dad snapped photos of dragsters and greasers for the magazines. It reminds her of the one boy she probably ever loved enough to have stayed married to forever if he hadn't died on the road before they had a chance to find out. What she doesn't tell him is that the smell of gasoline on his hands reminds her of every single best kind of love she's ever had or hoped for in her life.
What she doesn't say is that she loves the smell of gasoline on a man's hands because it reminds her of being six years old and hiding behind her dad's legs every other week at the garage while he and his friends revved engines, talked shop, and smoked Kools. It reminds her of the racetrack, holding her brother's hand and stuffing her mouth full of Bit-o-Honeys while her dad snapped photos of dragsters and greasers for the magazines. It reminds her of the one boy she probably ever loved enough to have stayed married to forever if he hadn't died on the road before they had a chance to find out. What she doesn't tell him is that the smell of gasoline on his hands reminds her of every single best kind of love she's ever had or hoped for in her life.
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wonderfully written. gave me goosebumps. :)
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I have always adored the smell of gasoline as well, but not because of any memories, I don't think.
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She barely manages a "Whattimewhatwhowhereami?" as she struggles to escape from her nest of filthy old clothes. Instinctively, she reaches out for another hand and takes a deep breath.
"Easy there! Take it slow," warns an unfamiliar, authoritative voice.
"I seen this before. There oughtta be a law!" proclaims an indignant, old woman. But she only saw through windows. Windows inside white, sheltering, and odorless walls.
"Don't worry, ma'am. We'll get her some help. Thanks for calling it in," he lied. Sure, he'd get her off the streets for a day or two. But she always found her way back- back to huffing men.
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I would say a Bahamavention, but those don't seem to work so well.
How's tricks?
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That just made me smile....
...n my dad smoked Kents, let me sip off his cold Dr. Pepper in the bottle, and when my uncle came over he'd let me take a swig of his Coors. Nevermind that I was 5! ;)
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lyubotova e otrova
what i've learned about a condition i'll refer to as M.H. is: when your lover becomes your best friend and things start to get confused brcause you were both still a little varying degrees of wounded when you met and he offers up the idea, "maybe we should stop having sex?", the correct answer is: "does this ass make me look stupid?"
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i miss you, cate! it's so good to see a post from you here~
and i'm still hoping that you'll come to nica some day :)
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when donna posted that Cate is coming to see her, is it you??
if so, please give her a huge hug for me!
and y'all can entertain yourselves by concocting plans to come to my wedding in nica in '08 or '09. :)
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Yeah, that's me!! Only a couple of days until the Double D Fest begins.
A wedding?!?!!! Felicidades!! : )
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and seriously, you two come on down for the festivities! you've got a year or two to save your pesos. :)
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