The Cassettes:

by SRaibes

In the passenger seat of your rusted Mitsubishi, the stack of Beastie Boys cassettes teases the kid in the back seat. Their glossy cover begs to be scratched upon its opening. Because even amidst frustrations, a quick play of “She’s Crafty” was always guaranteed.

But as the time passed, those nights faded. The feelings blurred and the memories only seemed to fill in the lines.

The silent drives home. The tattered bag of pinnies. A slew of vulgar expressions as we pull up late to another practice.

The sticker that ruined the side of the door frame. Your vexed retort to the customer service desk. The way that you look at your other children.

And somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow is the boy before it all. The boy who misses the cassettes The boy who didn’t have to try for your love.

But he’s gone.

Lost in the sea of who he was and where he’s going.