Wash and Run

I sat in the car wash and cried.

High impact pre-soak. I'm jumping in the deep end. The briny water is cold against my skin, and goosebumps race to the small of my back in a marathon for the finish.

Foam bath. I'm sinking like a tombstone, flailing my arms and kicking my legs to power myself to the surface. Everything is blue and hazy. Like when you're looking long distances from a high altitude. Same thin spread of oxygen, but a little more disorienting. My clothes drag behind me. Air bubbles from my nose rise past my face and get tangled in my hair. I just want to be suspended there in that cold and silent reverie.

Clear coat wax. The light is brightening and my lungs are burning. I twirl my fingertips in the shimmering, watery sunlight that filters down and warms my face. Or is that less oxygen? A few more kicks yet.

Dry. I push against the azure, break the surface with my head and hands. Damp air blows across my face and I'm floating in miles of it. No sand or rocks or grassy cliffs. I sail where the sun meets the earth for a goodnight kiss and close my eyes.

I'll just go to dinner and pretend like my world didn't turn to liquid beneath my feet. Just a few deep breaths and it'll all be over, falling one way or another. At least now my car is clean.