Disclaimer: FMA is not mine.
Fast Car – Boyce Avenue & Kina Grannis
You got a fast car
is it fast enough so we can fly away
We gotta make a decision
We leave tonight or live and die this way
"Come with me."
"Where?" she asks. She is just a girl, tall and thin, with blonde hair.
"Does it matter? Anywhere is better than here." he said. He is just a boy, taller and thin, with black hair.
He turns to her, his face wild with desire, as though he has just had a glimpse of the future that he wants. His hands clench as though grasping for it as it dances out of his fingers.
"We can take the train, to the city."
They are both young and the lights of the city hold a lure greater than that of glitter and glamour.
He has to prove himself to the world, she has to prove herself – to him, and to herself.
The blanket beneath them is moth-eaten, grass poking up through the holes. Her soft cotton nightgown flutters in the breeze, which raises goose bumps on the exposed skin of his stomach above his shorts.
The stars overhead are just as distant as their dreams, and nowhere near as out of reach.
"I'll get a job," he says, imagining the two of them in a grand house with marble floors and carved wooden bannisters, with enough money that they don't have to work another day in their lives.
She imagines them in a little apartment at the top of a narrow, rundown brick building, making just enough to get by.
Her father clings to his bottle of whiskey like a lifeline. It lets him forget the mistake. His mistake: his wife, his daughter. His body is too old, too bent to work. She can't leave him – she gives up her future to stay and take care of him.
He remembers the feeling of her small shoulders against his chest, his arms tight around her. His idea of a better life is one with her in it. His hands clench, empty without her.
"Stay with me," he asks. She is the city, and her eyes hold a lure greater than that of glitter and glamour.
"If we don't leave…"
We're going to die this way. He doesn't say it, but it's something that consumes them both.
There are worse things he can think of than dying with her hands tangled in his.
The children are gone – his body is still young, but he is too old. She can't leave him – she gives up her future to stay and take care of theirs.
"Stay with me," she asks instead. He has stolen a part of her that she didn't know she had, and if he takes it away to the city, she can't go after it.
"Riza," he says, her name like a secret that only the two of them know.
The warm night air seems to whisper with the words they keep locked behind their lips, their breath coming quickly.
She already knows what his answer will be.