"Grandview Drive" by Endrit Ramku

A man just walked past me and left behind the stench of blue raspberry vape smoke, attached to his shirt like the microbiome it is. As it traveled through my nose, I almost teleported back to Baba Den’s house, where the same exact flavor could be smelt dancing through the stagnant air. It reminded me of the memory foam mattress at the end of the hallway in Adrian’s room that I sunk into, maybe trying to escape somewhere that didn’t always feel like home. It reminded me of the time I trashed Juliana’s room, tearing out her drawers and throwing her clothes everywhere. It reminded me of my favorite basement that I wouldn’t go near without its industrial fluorescent lighting beaming bright. It reminded me of the hospital bed planted in place of the couch in the living room. It reminded me of a time that I cannot revisit. It reminded me that we’ve all grown up now. It reminded me that some of us didn’t make it. It reminded me of the all nighters, the crying, the accidents, the bathrooms, the weekends, the divorce, the winter breaks, Carter, the christmases, the cupcakes, the funfetti frosting I ate straight from the jar, the dominoes, the whipple, the spleen, the goodbyes, the hellos, the boyfriends, the love, the laughter, the departure, the questions, the vlogs, the Xbox, the longest drive, the smallest town, the Sunrise Cafe, the warehouse, the ATV, the old boat, the semi trucks, the handshakes, the loudest radio, the hugs, the mother tongue, the train whistle, the memories, the end.