Freedom & Fast Cars
Trish Tuthill
Jay had hung his t-shirt from the branch of the dogwood tree, bright white against the blue of the sky. It was the hottest day of summer and he was with the others who were waist-deep in the river, keeping the crazy-making heat out of their skin.
I lay on the dry, prickly grass under the tree, mesmerized by the contrast between sky and shirt. It was rippling in the light breeze and I imagined a bigger gust of wind causing it to fall and land across my face. The fabric would be soft and the scent of Jay would smother me. It would have been a blissful way to go.
Right in that moment, I knew this was the time of life that people wrote about in songs. We were what being young looked like if you were a country singer or wrote soft rock ballads. The kind of
