The late-October chill brushes my face as I drive down State Route 48. My mind begins to wander as my eyes glaze over the rows of corn stacked on either side of me.

It transports me back to high school, with an old friend. We parted ways, and back then it was bitter, but now I reminisce. Those feelings that were full of anger and confusion have now resolved into distant memories and wishes that they are doing well. 

You use to be a writer, or you could be still, vague memories of what you’ve shared with me in the past float through my mind every now and then, this time I did not shove them away. 

You wrote a piece, based on a song that we both loved. Car Radio by Twenty One Pilots. I tried to find it on the wattpad account you once had, but I saw that it has since been closed. 

You wrote about the profound silence, driving through the country with corn beside you, and how crazy it felt that someone stole the car radio. 

I know now that it was an interpretation of how you felt inside of your own body, not that the car radio was no longer there but, because I am now experiencing a similar lull period in my life – postpartum. 

Ten years later, I’m driving down the road in my old beat-up Chevy Silverado, and my radio decided to stop working… your words flooded my mind.

Somebody stole my car radio and now I sit in silence.