She was there by an off-chance coincidence, a fail safe that had failed, so she reversed time and her experience to become a record store clerk, again, shelving music instead of managing clients and budgets. The truth is, she loved it, her fire escape dive to freedom.
The trains click-clacked all night as she tried to sleep, curled up on an leaking mattress of air, on too cold of floors, wrapped up in nearly gone arms. This had been their last ditch effort, a new city, a cross-country denial. They were fading faster than he could light her next cigarette, faster still than he could empty yet another bottle of bourbon. He screamed her name out the window, loud enough to shake the walls, but she never turned to look. She just turned the music up, hitting the gas pedal hard, never even a glance back in her rear round view.
The snow fell. She sat out on her break in the cold air, gloved hands and a scarf half covering her pale face and she whispered into her mobile phone, calling across the miles, calling home. She confessed all her sins to her friend, telling her about the boy who had caught her eye, behind the counter, and across the aisles. He was a writer like she was, stubborn and whip smart, and beautiful. He made backroom mixes, playing them loudly when the doors were closed and locked. He hardly seemed to notice she was there beside him, listening, mouthing the words to each song.
The air was crisp and the sky a dingy grey when she saw him there on the side of the road, wandering, walking and waiting on no one. She tried to pretend not to notice, tried to not wonder if the song that was singing in his ears was the same as hers. Tried to ignore the ring on her finger. She failed again, at all counts, pulling the car over, half parallel to where no one wants to go, all gutters and grates, and too much snow. She offered him a ride.
It was in a car ride that she realized he did see her, and another one later on where she knew she was falling. Days later, on the side of yet another road, another illegal pull to the curbside, that they shared a first kiss, a first start, a hello wrapped up in a goodbye.
She was leaving the next day, and all she wanted was for him to say, stop and stay.
Venus, Stop the Train :: Wilco