I was sitting at my desk, fingers poised over some nascent essay, daydreaming out the window that framed a piece of my suburbia. Why the fuck, why, Eli? Why if you say you love somebody would you hurt them? Why would you do fucking horrible things to them? How could you use your fucking hands against them? How? I didn’t try to coax the event out of her; I knew I couldn’t, at least not that close in time. And I couldn’t answer her questions, so I tried to soothe her with the insufficiency of I love you’s and I know’s and I’m sorry’s. But after her tears dried, and I couldn’t hear her sniffles anymore, and instead heard Springsteen’s “Used Cars” faintly, and she started with small brushstrokes of self-restoration, Got to get to work, everything in its place, suck it up, power through, I allowed the call to end with a lame encouragement to keep your head up. I could see her, driving—as I knew she had been by the wind and horns in the background—with both hands uncommonly on the wheel, trying to compensate with proper posture for the fact that she can’t even see the road through her tears.
What do You think about Clearly Now, The Rain (2013)?
