Jet Pack Blues
I wrote this when I first listened to “Jet Pack Blues” by Fall Out Boy, so I named the story after the song because I’m oh-so original.
The road was dark, the only light came from my headlights as I road the highway faster. I had a few to drink, enough to think driving was a good thing.
We had a fight. She said she was tired of trying to keep the love she has left for me alive. Said she didn’t love me like she did when she was in high school. I yelled. She yelled. Things were broken, both metaphorically and physically.
I left to a bar and stayed for hours. The guy running the counter said I should pack up and go since he was planning on closing up soon. He offered to call me a cab, but I said no and walked out.
Now, now I’m swerving, trying to stay between the white lines of the road. Deep down in the pit of my stomach, I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I let my foot off the gas pedal and grabbed for my phone.
I called her. She answered on the third ring. My foot hit the gas harder than before. My arms were jerking to stay between the lines.
Her voice was shaking and she sounded worried. Rain was starting to fall now. She asked where I was. I told her I didn’t know. She said…
“Baby, come home. I miss you. I’m worried.”
That was all I heard before I ended up in a ditch. I could hear her panicked screams as I was being thrown about the car.
I woke up in her arms, tears and rain plastering her hair to her face. She was crying into her phone, demanding an ambulance. I reached a hand up and brushed the hair away from her cheek. She grabbed my hand and held it close to her heart.
“I’m sorry.” I moaned through my bloody lips. She sobbed before turning back to the phone. She hung up and held my hand tighter.
“I’m sorry.” Was all she said before red and blue lights were blinding me.
