Sound check

You checked my stereo settings the last time I saw you. You wanted to make sure that the sound in my car was all set before I started the long drive out. You knew how loudly I’d be blaring all the music you’d given me, alternating between singing and crying, as I got farther and farther away from you, holding desperately onto the necklace you’d given me, grasping at straws for strength. You knew you could have told me to stay. I’d asked you to. But you said it wasn’t your decision to make. Instead, you asked me if I got my car all tuned up, oil changed, brakes checked. If I was set. If I’d be safe.