'Keys'

I met him on the dirt track, a painted ideal, surrounded by strange women and a thousand addictions. I had no idea who he was, or why I had allowed myself to be dragged to this pit, but managed to convince myself I was having a splendid time. He was a racer, but an aging one nonetheless - long past his prime at twenty one.

When he bought the car, I hated it; its crimson paintwork, leather smell. From the window of our sitting room I sat and watched as he polished it - the dream that had cost us our savings. I wondered how this object could possibly compare with a lifetime of whisperings, years of promises, but I never said that to him. Instead I cooked him a meal and took it out to the garage - meaning to apologise - but he wasn’t there.

Hours I waited for him. I understand, I meant to say, we’ll get through this, but I never got the chance. A knock at the door signalled a new arrival, but it was not my husband.

A lifetime of dreams I gave up in an instant; all I have left is the keys….