There you sit. Alone. Oblivious to the world behind you. Oblivious to each row of car-less freshmen. Oblivious to my love.
Your eyes, mysterious depths that sparkle in the rearview mirror, are expertly trained on the road before you to keep us safe. To keep me safe.
My knight in a Point Loma polo.
Occasionally I caught those eyes, swimming in their endless pools of mystery. I smile at them. They look back at the road. That’s okay. It only breaks my heart a little.
But that’s love, right?
You turn on the radio. It’s a song I’ve never heard before, with a strange, infectious beat. Leaning forward, I say, “I love this song.” But in my head I say, “I love you.”
This will be our song.
I ride through every stop, trying desperately to tear my eyes away from your god-like features: those beautiful locks of hair, that chiseled profile, such strong hands curled protectively around the steering wheel.
Oh Shuttle Driver, hold my heart the way you hold that precious steering wheel!
Oh how I wish to be the seatbelt that embraces you with each bump and curve down Rosecrans Street!
But alas, our journey together must come to end. Again, we must part, as I must embark on my adventures in Target, and you, my love, must journey on to transport others into the great unknown. By which I mean Fashion Valley.
As I descend the stairs, I turn back for one moment that seems to last an eternity. Our eyes are locked. Our breath is bated. Everything I feel, and hope you do too, has led to this final exchange…
“Thanks for the ride.” I murmur.
“You’re welcome.” You reply.
This poem is a preview from The Driftwood. Students can purchase the literary arts journal that contains this poem at lunch or dinner in front of the Caf or from the LJML/Bond office.
Grace Gaines