The Mixed Tape

You're playing that cassette tape
That you took from me to take to Iowa
And that was near three years ago
Now I'm back up in that moment
Playing that yardsale Casio
From 24C – The Matches


It was only April, but Kevin had his windows down. His stereo blasted Jack’s Mannequin loud enough to be heard three cars away.
In between tracks he heard a snatch of a familiar song from the car next to him. Surprised he wasn’t the only one who felt this April afternoon deserved its own soundtrack; he mashed the volume down so he could catch the chorus of “What it is to Burn” by Finch. He looked over at the car stopped at the light next to him and perhaps to give the guy a congratulatory honk and wave for being awesome. His fingers froze on the vinyl skin of the horn. It was Jenny. She was yelling something to someone, her neck arched toward the back seat like a thin white coat hanger. A not so friendly honk from behind him reminded him that the light had turned green.
In his embarrassment he stomped on the gas more forceful than was necessary and jerked his car forward. He stole a glace at Jenny in her dirty white Honda as she caught up to him. The huge dent she’d received the night of the Weezer concert was still there and looked worse than ever. She had passed out in the front row that night. He remembered how her hair smelled like sweat and weed as they arrived stumbling to the parking lot only to find the car dented, and the antenna ball from the local radio station missing.
Kevin missed the turn off on to his street. He switched lanes to stay behind the white car instead. He could just see the outline of a child’s car seat sticking out over the threadbare gray upholstery. So that’s who she was yelling at. He remembered how she used to turn up the first 30 seconds of that song and close her eyes as the cello faltered into an all consuming scream. She would always cross her legs when she listened to it. It was from the cassette tape she’d taken from him to take to Iowa three years ago. As he tailed her through the streets, questions and scenarios played in his mind like disjointed film clips. Most importantly, how old was the kid in the back seat?
Jenny had turned down a residential street lined with poplars and white fences. She stopped in front of an intimidating building, but did not pull in to the driveway.
Kevin parked a few houses down. He couldn’t help but watch her. The sound of that yard sale Casio lingered as he tapped the beat out with his fingers. He watched her lean into the car to unbuckle the child. It was a little girl with blond pigtails tied with blue ribbons. She was hardly a baby. Kevin’s palms grew warm as they gripped the steering wheel of the idling car. Jenny held the girl’s hand as she retrieved a large white pail filled with cleaning supplies from the car. The girl bounced impatiently, while swinging what looked like his old He-man toy in her other hand.
He was late for work, but he sat there in view of the house for two hours. Waiting. Thinking of how to ask the questions that had plagued him the last 3 years.
Jenny and the girl finally emerged. Kevin’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. With little success he tried convincing his hands to move to the car door.
Watching the tail lights of Jenny’s car vanish around the corner gave him an odd sense of déjà vu. He looked at the clock. He sighed. Two and a half hours late for work. He pulled his car out of the driveway, and drove back home.