Beth Krumholz

My Now Old New Car

When I traded in my old loud grinding can feel every bump in the road beat up car for my then new sleek smooth modern feels like I’m sailing car with a racing stripe, I delighted in the neutral motel room vibe of the interior. I said to my son, let’s always keep it this clean. Sure mom. Yesterday I noticed the collection in the space between where I sit and where he sits. A never opened packet of guitar picks with The Beatles graphics on each one. A common blue bank pen. Twisted up ear buds. An empty coffee cup. An empty toy train box. A pair of scissors. A note on a paper that says fennel, lime, chili oil, and a rumpled up t-shirt. On the floor are lots of coins and dried up leaves. In the back is a collection of summer and winter shoes. Like the kind of shoes you’d keep in a mud room if you had one. Rain boots from the Goodwill, and worn out flip-flops. I keep the seats down in the back due to loading or unloading this and that. Unless we have passengers, which we used to have when Friday night roller skating was on.