Feb 21
Summit House-WCS's picture

A Car Model Kit

Complex plastic car pieces scatter the tabletop, some not even popping out of their flimsy plastic container. Only the wheels and axis hug onto each other as the rest of the disassembled car sits in a clutter of chaos waiting to be put together. But even as they beg to embrace each other, I continue to stare on, keeping them there away. One-half of an exhaust pipe stares first at its other half then toward me. I tell them they can't be together, he has to be here, he has to be here to help. I can't do this alone so they have to continue to be broken until he comes back. A pit in my stomach aches, but I persist. Although, tinges of piercing pain form in the corners of my eyes, leaving droplets to fall. Although swiftly swallowed up from the course material of my shirt.

The midnight breeze escapes through the crack of my window, and softly cradles my cheeks as I further peek. Pieces continue to scatter along the desk. My eyes were directed to the various pieces entrapped within a plastic exoskeleton. They weep and whine, constantly struggling to break free. But they can't, they know it, I know it. But they keep asking,




“Why can't we be together?’

Dad started it with me and he has to finish it with me, okay? He can't just leave me here. I can’t be alone, not again. Why won’t you understand? 

Tear verge around the corners again. Though, now it is growing instead of stopping. The skin along my face burns. This feeling is unfortunately too familiar, but I thought I could have escaped it. It was stupid of me to think I could put it together and not have this happen again. The pieces would have just stopped whispering now, letting my sorrows bounce through the room. But, how unusual. They still mutter soft words under their breaths. No words register, but it still comforts me. Maybe they’re right this time. Do they have my best intention in mind this time? Without much thought, one hand reaches for a plastic piece. One part to another.  

I got up from my desk to stretch for a bit after working on it for so long. My head collapsed on top of my arms. My face is still swollen and blotchy like before. But now staring at his favorite car, now finished, together, complete. I still feel…the same? A disfigured reflection looks back toward me. Even when together, it still seems that it dwindles, with only the wheels supporting it in a shifty balance. We both couldn’t accept the truth. Please come back, dad. I miss you.