Bicycling the frontage road on my way home from work,
I admired an old Volvo wagon with a wooden dashboard.
I could see myself whizzing up mountain roads listening
to the stereo, then crawling in the back to sleep.
It was a car with endless possibilities.

I took a spin with the salesman, then asked for a few
minutes in the car alone. Rubbing my hands across the dashboard,
I knew it was time to own a car. The salesmen smiled,
and I smiled too, but less eagerly since a car
seemed like something that'd change my life dramatically.

But I was ready for this change and headed toward the office.
Three steps closer to finalizing the deal, part of my vintage dress
hung from my shoulders while the rest remained stuck in the car door.
Standing in the parking lot wearing nothing more than a bit
of clothing on my shoulders, red panties, and sandals,
I noticed the salesmen laughing.

As if this were nothing out of the ordinary,
I opened the door and freed my dress from the car,
then wrapped the remaining cloth around my waist,
hopped back on my bike,
and pedaled down the frontage road holding my dress around
my hips remembering that dashboard, the mountain roads,
wondering why buying a car had to be so difficult,
wondering if I'd really fit in the back of the car,
wondering if I really was ready for all that change.

Copyright © Diane Payne, 2002.  All Rights Reserved.