Spoke Up

I jump in my friend's car.

It's filled basically to the brim.

The area is small and compact.

How did she fit this many people in her tiny car?

Glass is crumbled on the ground.

“How far?” I ask.

“Less than 4 blocks” she, the driver, responds.

There she is, gone, as though she was never there in the first place.

We arrive at the house.

It's large with a big front door.

Dozens of cars are outside.

A small celebration is what my friends call it, but I just call it a party.

A typical teenage party.

Typical things happen at this typical teenage party.

Dancing, singing, drinking, all that kind of stuff. 

Red and blue flash in and out of my vision.

One hour passes,

then the next,

and the next,

and the next.

“Are you guys srteady to go?” 

Srteady? Are you serious?

Should she be driving?

There she is. Gone, like she was never there in the first place.

“Yes” 

“Ya”

“Yeah”

Everyone files back into the miniscule car, 

repeating the history we lived in hours ago.

Different smells fill my senses,

many unknown.

One resembles an old basement, 

while another reminds me of vinegar.

“Do you want me to drive?” 

Please say yes.

“Uh no. I'm fine to myself.”  She says this confidently as she misses the key slot on her car.

“Are you sure? I didn't have anything at the party, I think it's safe–”

“No I can do it. I only had one drink.”

She only had one drink.

Music plays and laughs fill the air. 

Seatbelts rest at everyone's sides.

“How far?” I ask.

“Only about 4 blocks.”

It was only 4 blocks.

I stare out the window.

I feel the car swivel across the white lines,

resembling children ignoring lines on a coloring page.

I choose to not say anything.

Just wait, 

It's only 4 blocks.

“What's your name?”

I don't know.

“Do you know where you are?”

No.

“What happened?” I say puzzled and confused.

I turn and see the miniscule tiny car,

it's rolled upside down.

“Where is everyone?” 

The car is destroyed. 

There's glass everywhere.

The metal from the car lies upon the ground.

I walk over,

 attempting to retrieve my things from the wreck.

I am quickly redirected away from the crash,

and led to a car. 

As I walk away from the scene,

I look over my shoulder 

to see what's left,

of what could've been different if I just 

spoke up.