jack & diane

Flying through the night, what was she doing listening to this stupid classic rock station anyway? Sick of all her music she needed some new CDs in here all her music was really his music anyway she couldn't listen to it anymore so she had resorted to the radio. Which was annoying except for this old John Cougar song which was so good it was worth suffering through the rest. What a beautiful night starry clear and crisp windows down and flying on that mountain road she'd driven so many hundreds of times before a long day and an even longer evening in one painful meeting after another. But now flying down the mountain the woodstove and a bottle of wine waiting at home, oh yeah, this is a good ole song
"suckin' on a chili dog outside the tasty freeze
diane sittin on jackie's lap got his hand between her knees"
Yeah his hand between her knees oh yeah and ahh what the hell is that! Holy mother of god that is a fucking moose. A moose. Oh my god my god don't hit it oh swerve don't hit a fucking moose for chrissake what is that moose doing in the middle of the road? Ahh no
She pulled away from the stop sign, slow and uncertain, it being only the first day after getting her driver's license. Tentative, she glanced left and saw the red hatchback careening towards her, that heavy foot on the gas pedal too late as the crash on her left sent her flying forward snapping backward watching her car smash into the embankment oh that fucking drum solo she pulled her legs up where were her shoes? crawled across the seats across the console those m&m's are fucking everywhere dammit climbing out barefoot standing up oh the sun oh her head oh ouch ow owww and looked back at the red hatchback as she heard the wail

The woman oh that woman all that blood and her baby! that tiny baby screaming in her arms oh my god all that blood where did all that blood come from? the woman's face obliterated the baby soaked all in blood everywhere. Scanning the country crossroads only fields in every direction oh there was a house in the distance she took off sprinting across the cornfield oh barefoot sprinting I'll get help I'll get help oh I'm so sorry and I'll get help and she didn't remember the rest when she awoke in an ambulance what where am I who are these people what happened and out again

She had been coming back from visiting her boyfriend, her new boyfriend, the one with the guitar and the Camaro, the dreamy one all the girls wanted. The one she'd have sex with the next day on the beach where her family was staying when her parents relented and allowed her to take the car to visit him, on the day after she got her drivers license. The boyfriend whose lap she loved to sit in, whose car she loved to ride in and make out in at the drive-in or parking on Creepy Lane. The boyfriend who picked her and turned her into a cool girl, the boyfriend who liked The Police and The Vapors and wrote songs for her on his Les Paul sunburst and called her Camouflage Girl. The boyfriend who made her speechless although she was smarter who got her shit-ass drunk for the first time who fucked her for the first time who said she had fat ankles and knocked her around for the first time. That boyfriend, they relented and allowed her to take the car to visit him, the day after she got her drivers license
"oh yeah life goes on long after the thrill of livin' is gone
oh yeah life goes on long after the thrill of livin' is gone"
Ah the drum solo the drum solo watch out my god what is that moose doing there swerve squeeaallll CRASH crash over over ah crash ahh the drum solo how long is this fucking drum solo colors swooped and swirled behind her eyes as the music soared the crisp air the starry stars oh her head oh ow ouch where was she oh where is he oh the swirls and the stars
"hold on to sixteen as long as you can
changes come around real soon make us women and men"

What week is it in the Indie Ink writing challenge? Probably doesn't matter. What does perhaps matter is the interesting pattern of death and mayhem in my challenge posts. Do you think it matters? Should I seek professional help? Hmmmm. My challenge this week is from my lovely friend (and Indie Ink wife) Mandy of My Plaid Pants, who has now challenged me three times out of (I think) twelve, oddly enough. Mandy's prompt was: "Colors swooped and swirled behind her closed eyelids as the music soared taking her back to...."