There Was

the sound of the passing cars, the force of their speed, oncoming; the noise suctioning us against the pulled over truck. The blur of yellow headlights, and oh God, all those crickets. Owen was leaning over me, his one hand pressed into his leaking eyes, the other holding up his guilt-shaken body, using the open truck door for stability. The steady ding-ding-ding signaling the open passenger side door answered in-between the call of what felt like thousands of crickets all asking what was going on. Katydids chirped, another insect moaned. An orchestra of insects enveloped us. I said some heartfelt things and he said something about being sorry. I did something like cry, but all I could hear were all those beautiful, sounding crickets; shaking the passing cars on the highway, shaking Owen’s truck as we leaned, and shaking the ground that, for the moment, I could hardly stand on. At least, that’s what the world felt like, there on the side of the road. A semi sounded its horn, jolting me, making me catch stray hairs in my mouth and choking on my tears and hair and all the things I never told him about myself over the past two years. All the things, that as of five minutes ago, no longer mattered: that tranquil world of confident quiet was being left on the side of that road, this highway, his way out of here and out of my life. I thought about leaving the hair, caught in my teeth; his mouth wouldn’t be coming near mine anymore anyway, and what good were those lies I told now? That day I lied about how many men I slept with and how many joints I smoked. How I secretly hated his friends. Shut up, my mind had suddenly told those crickets. Stop making this everything it isn’t. But it wasn’t the crickets, and it wasn’t him. It was just another break up and everything after is just boring aftermath.