__________________________________
Where Were You When
By Stephanie Kemp

I was sitting on a stained seat in a shitty rent-a-car.

Black.
Economy.
Texas plates rented in Massachusetts,

driving to Rhode Island.

Turn key ignition.
Shredded wipers.
Missing knob on the radio dial, in a world of unfamiliar stations.

(Also missing a hubcap.)

I loved it because it was taking me to see my daughter, for the first time, in college.

I heard it through radio fuzz.

What?

In Israel?
A concert?
Babies?
Beheadings?
Safe rooms?
Hostages?        
Hundreds?
Thousands?
Still happening?

Hamas?

Ground attack?
Caught off-guard?

Is this really happening?

In Israel?

I drove faster, not caring that I was also missing tire tread and shock absorbers.

I did all of the things I’d planned to do:

Stocked her up at Trader Joe’s
Saw her room
Met her roommate
Walked her streets
Hugged her friends
Went to the craft fair
Stocked her up at CVS
Took her to dinner
Let her order for both of us
Gave her my dessert
Listened
Laughed
Stocked up on her voice and her dimples and her new perfume and newly foreign stories
Took pictures of this new life to show her dad and sister
(She still doesn’t like to have her picture taken)
Listened more
Drove around in circles so I would never have to drop her off.

We talked about it from the edges.

This was only possible because we had lost our shorthand,
and because I had taken temporary shelter through the distance of shock.

Don’t let it in, 
Don’t let it in, 
Don’t let it in, screamed my bones

...knowing long before my head could catch up that this option would soon no longer be available.

I dropped her off (without crying) and got back in my shitty rent-a-car. I could see her in her fourth floor window,
unloading chocolate orange sticks, dried mango and slivered almond cookies in preparation for the next time 
she was hungry or homesick.

My daughter was smiling.

Safe.
Fuzzy.
Living and Learning her Life.

I drove away in the pitch black pouring rain, unable to breathe through unstoppable tears.


One more fractured human being gripping the wheel at ten and two...

Trying to see the world through shredded wipers and hold my children...

Thinking about the people that would never be able to do that again.


I was, and remain, a broken dial.



______________________________