Anna Egeland

The Whole Time I Lived in Florida, My Bathroom Was Infested with Fleas

I told myself I would at least spend the ten thousand first;
no reason to die with money in the bank.
I bought heart-shaped sunglasses and a gold ring with the word “Trash” on it.
I bought a purple miniature taser and a pink switchblade;
you can do things like that in Florida.
I stopped caring about anything but the experiment.
I drove my death-trap Buick across the entire country.
Three-thousand miles.
I stopped at Yellowstone.
I cried myself to sleep.
I cried in front of Old Faithful.
I bought a souvenir T-shirt and 5 bumper stickers for the Buick.
I crossed the Montana border, the Idaho border, and the Washington state border.
I drove until Florida felt fuzzy in my head.
I forgot how the windows fogged up each summer morning,
I forgot the sound of the roaches clicking in their glue traps,
I forgot how to drown fleas in blue Dawn and water,
I forgot how high on the yardstick of my calf they could jump.
This is what I mean when I say that car saved my life.

Anna Egeland lives and writes in Seattle, WA. Her Buick, Helga, just turned 26 years old.