Photo: SC Martinez
Published by Gooseberry Pie Lit Mag on August 14, 2025
Fleeing family holiday celebrations, driving Mom’s metallic blue Impala with my sister riding shotgun, we fly down narrow country roads between our home and her boyfriend, Mike’s, a rented room in a house with a half dozen roommates, one town over, where he’s attending community college, and sitting out the draft.
I know her allowing me to hang out with her at Mike’s is a pity invite after my break up with my first real boyfriend, but I don’t care. Since our quarrel last week, when I asked him who the girl was he was slow-dancing with, time is suspended, the days taste bitter, and I can’t sleep.
The car radio is booming, and we sing every song with the same sweet strong voices we’d used in the church choir when we were little. Don McClean comes on and we belt out, ‘Do you believe in rock and roll; can music save your mortal soul’ and I’m crying so hard I can’t see the road. She lunges and grabs the wheel.
Suzanne C Martinez 