OEM

I told her there were reasons. That it figured, the dynamic. The myth shot to pieces, as we barreled across 84 into Salt Lake.
She told me she had had dreams, dreams and ambitions. And that no God fearing, food storing, Latter Day Saint from Boise, was gonna tell her what color to paint her kitchen. She was driving a huge car. A Cadillac maybe. A red one. And that if by God, she wanted to spend the rest of the week in Cedar City with her sister doing what she damn well pleased, well then she would. Boise, a speck behind us and all.
She told me that it had been a prompting. Her picking me up.
A prompting from the Holy Spirit. I told her I was headed to St. George. Anything the other side of Salt Lake traffic was fine.
She told me the kids graduated BYU, they all lived in Provo.
She wore a coarse weave, wool perhaps. A nice contrast with the interior leather.
She told me there were days. Times she would look back upon.
Go crap what a waste of time, times. And the kids… well they all did sports, so there was that. That period of time.
I played tennis, I told her. And dropped out of high-school.
I pumped gas for 3 bucks an hour, I told her.
She told me her husband had opened a new soft-serve ice-cream franchise.
That she pretty well much steers clear of the whole operation.
I told her I wrote a poem once about ice-cream. Square ice-cream. I told her.
She told me she was gonna hole-up for the evening.
Get a room in Salt Lake. That would I like to stay. To hang-out.
Her treat, she told me.
Sure, I told her.