Whose car was it? Headlights glazing the river alongside the highway over a decade ago, three 15-year-old girls in the backseat passing a bottle of raspberry Smirnoff between us, two faceless, nameless boys up front smoking cigarettes and twisting the radio dial louder to drown out our high-pitched laughter. The driver turned onto a dirt road and we climbed higher and higher into the mountains. I remember being afraid of how dark it was, how impossibly thick the forest beyond the window. I don’t remember the party we must’ve gone to, the meadow in the woods with a bonfire and cases of beer in truck beds and blankets spread out over the wildflowers, the dry summer grass and yellow pine needles. I don’t remember if I fell in love that night, or if anyone kissed me, or if I got down on my hands and knees and puked after drinking too many cans of Bud Lite. I don’t remember the drive home, the spinning sleep, the aching morning after. All that’s left is the car ride, sailing through the night with two of my best friends on either side of me, their wrists and necks smelling of Victoria’s Secret perfume, three different flavors of lip gloss left on the mouth of the vodka bottle like crescent moons, our bare thighs sticking to the leather seats, death himself at the wheel and all of us hurtling through time, the thick smoke of forever.
Backseat Smirnoff
Janelle Cordero is an interdisciplinary artist and educator living in Spokane, WA. Her writing has been published in dozens of literary journals, including Harpur Palate, Autofocus and Hobart, while her paintings have been featured in venues throughout the Pacific Northwest. Janelle is the author of four books of poetry, including Impossible Years (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press, 2022). Stay connected with Janelle’s work at www.janellecordero.com and follow her on Instagram @janelle_v_cordero.