Cameron Penner

My best friend Sully, who now lives in Kalamazoo.

Three years fly by quickly when sitting in a car. Life moves all around; decades worth of trees and memories surround the vehicle, moving at high speeds. This car ride was very enjoyable, filled with sunny skies and light traffic. We played music that we both like, singing along to the melodies, harmonies, and beat of the song. I put my arms out the window; the cold breeze that flowed through my fingers and the waves I made in the wind remind me that life is good in the car. 

This car ride made even the slightest idea of a destination fly away with the trees. 

For three years, we sat in the car, riding down Fulton. One time, we came close to hitting a deer—another time, that deer became a car, and we rear-ended it. Both times, we still made it to my best friend’s house in one piece. Every turn in the road was filled with euphoria as we moved along, but this time, the vehicle did not turn onto the familiar street—we kept moving forward, drawing us closer towards the unknown.

I hate what I do not know. 

Time passes quickly, and soon we stop singing and pull into the lot where I know she is destined to exit and move forward. I quietly question why she is leaving so soon, but ultimately, I smile and attempt to leave the car as she did. But my door does not open. Why is she able to exit so quickly? Why is my door not opening? 

I hate what I do not know. 

I want nothing more than to climb through the car and out the door adjacent to mine, but it is now shut, locked, and she is walking away without me beside her. I call out her name, but no response. She is already unpacking and getting ready for bed in her new dorm room before I can drag her to me. 

I do not understand why I am unable to leave the car. It feels like we only just got in, and she is exiting too soon. My only wish now is to go back to the start. If life gave me a do-over, I would cherish each tree we passed, each song we sang, and each tear we cried much more.

But I am not there; I am here—the parking lot.

I am stuck in the parking lot. My best friend lives in Kalamazoo, and I am not sure how to feel about it.

We had three years’ worth of sleepovers, jam sessions, shared meals, and night skies. We traveled thousands of miles together, and now I feel unable to take even one step without her. It’s painful knowing that this coming weekend I won’t be spending the day in the car, forgetting where we are going.

I am lost. I am stuck in a parking lot that I am not familiar with. I have never had an open seat next to mine.

Time seems to have accelerated through each day, memory, and laugh. And now time has taken that laughter from my lungs, and refuses to return it—I don’t know why. 

I hate what I do not know.