The sound of the engine drowns out some of her words but she keeps going with the story. I’ve heard this one before but to hear her voice crack while she fights back tears I can’t interrupt to inform her of that.

Let her say what she has to say over and over again until perhaps one day her voice won’t do that thing, you know? That thing that makes it sound like there is no ground. Until she finally feels like she has control over this thing that happened to her. Until it doesn’t hurt her anymore.

The engine needs to be tended to and the shocks could be replaced but pothole after pothole she keeps going on and on and on. Her rosaries are tangled amongst each other on the rearview and Jesus no longer hangs on His cross that’s glued on the dash. He rolls left and right with his arms spread open as we make our way through the city.

There.  He even prays for her to stop.