You ask her if she wants a water, she says she's good. You ask her if she's been in the city long, she says too long. She asks you if you've been driving long, you tell her how long. The Sirius launches into a new song.
"What do you think of this rain?" you ask.
She's silent, focused.
"Might not ever stop," you say. "Busier for me though."
After another 20 seconds she says, "Fuck."
You ask if there's something wrong and she says it's the song. You ask if she hates the song she says it's not that. She says she hasn't heard it in over three years.
"People think it's a love song," you say. "But I read it was actually about Bowie."
Her face is pained.
"Takin' you back, huh?" you say.
She says no, in fact no it's not at all. She says it was the song he played on the jukebox the night they first kissed. She says it's the song they'd put on at least once during the early-going Saturdays they'd spend all day in bed. She says it's the song she played on repeat in the months after he was gone until she swore to never ever play it again.
"I'll turn it off," you say.
She says no, don't bother.
"I pride myself on my star rating," you say. "If the song is upsetting you I'll--"
"It's not upsetting me," she says. "It's not doing anything to me."
"Are you sure?"
"Quit making me say it out loud!" she screams. "It's hard enough as it is."
It's like the song never played while she was burying her face in his hair, like they never put it on the rental car stereo when they were driving around her hometown to escape from her parents at Thanksgiving, like she never played it while trying to bring herself to replace the Brita pitcher he took with him when he moved out.
"How about a new station," you say.
"You can play it," she whispers. "It's fine. It doesn't matter anymore. Let the song play."
That's when she starts swearing and punching the back of your seat and slamming her palms against the car window. You hardly ever give a passenger a bad rating but you can't have someone becoming violent and treating your vehicle like that, no matter how hard it is to discover that even the pain a lover leaves behind will eventually go away. The window rattles a little now.
Happy You Can Play It It's Fine It Doesn't Matter Let The Song Play Day!