We ride in silence, strapped into the safety of our ‘99 Nissan.

The burning in my face slowly creeping down my bowed neck.

And all I can bring myself to ask is, “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

I mean, you wouldn’t kill yourself. Would you?

And I see the mammoth mall come into view.

Obscured vision distorts the bright Macy’s sign.

And I taste the salt of my tears pooling in each corner of my mouth,

the promise of an icee and jumbo chocolate chip cookie,

and the oppressive, haunting doubt behind your lingering response.