On a Scale of 1-10, I am Complicit

[ZHamilton]

On a Scale of 1-10, I am Complicit

It’s raining now. But I haven’t turned on the windshield wipers yet. 
In the distance, tail lights line the evening’s horizon.                   I imagine red lights trailing in the rain.
The highway is straight, mostly. 
The radio is playing Stevie Nicks, I think.  maybe.

I nod as the woman in the passenger’s seat tells me that she’s signing up for  her local fitness studio. Three of her friends had left their husbands after joining that gym. Her first day is Monday.    

This must be a cab or uber driver if he doesn't know the woman's name? Maybe the main character is detached from the situation.

It’s raining harder. The rain which had been beaded up on the windshield is now distorting the road like a funhouse mirror.         Favorite line
She’s telling me about the ex-boyfriend who has been charged with…

Stevie Nicks is signing about Sweet Little Lies. 
…But he’s a really good guy and it was just one time, so she didn’t press charges...

The windshield has blurred the world outside beyond recognition. 
She looks over at me
As if about to ask if I can see, 
And whether I’m going to turn the wipers on. 

I move my hand to the knob. The tail lights are now refracted through so much water that their distance is unknowable. 
The road and the horizon indistinguishable. 
The only certainty is that it is growing closer at 68 mph. 
The rain has drowned out Stevie’s voice. 
I feel the ridges of the knob on my fingertips. 

…And she hasn’t had a drink since the fight at Amanda’s wedding but is thinking of starting again…

The rhythm of the worn windshield wipers matches Mick Fleetwood’s drum beat and, for a moment, the road is clear, before the rain begins to form streaked arches across the glass.

The bolded words I would consider removing.

This piece feels very detached and dissociative. Interesting that it plays like a blurry memory even though it is set in real time, like the character is reliving it afterward. Reminds me of that painting scream. The road straight, the sky swirling-- the prose flat, interspersed with poetry.

As far as I can tell, I don't see many issues with your work, this is all that occurred to me. I feel just looking it over a couple times yourself could solve most of these edits, though.

I liked this piece a lot, cheers for the read
Sc

I appreciate the close read, and thanks for being the first to take a crack at this one! Now off to the woodshed...

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On a Scale of 1-10, I am Complicit

It’s raining now. But I haven’t turned on the windshield wipers yet. 
In the distance, tail lights line the evening’s horizon.
The highway is straight, mostly. 
The radio is playing Stevie Nicks, I think. 

I’m nodding, as the woman in the passenger’s seat tells me that she’s signing up for  her local fitness studio. Three of her friends had left their husbands after joining that gym. Her first day is Monday.     Maybe write in her voice:  "Three of my friends left their husbands after joining./ My first day is Monday."

It’s raining harder. The rain which had been beading up on the windshield is/ now distorting the road like a funhouse mirror./
She’s telling me about the ex-boyfriend who has been charged with…        and there's the ex-boyfriend/ who's been charged with...

Stevie Nicks is signing about Sweet Little Lies. 
…But he’s a really good guy and it was just one time, so she didn’t press charges...

The windshield has blurred the world outside beyond recognition. 
She looks over at me
As if about to ask if I can see, 
And whether I’m going to turn the wipers on. 

I move my hand to the knob. /The tail lights are now refracted through so much water /that their distance is unknowable. 
The road and the horizon indistinguishable. 
The only certainty is that it is growing closer at 68 mph. 
The rain has drowned out Stevie’s voice. 
I feel the ridges of the knob on my fingertips. 

…And she hasn’t had a drink/ since the fight at Amanda’s wedding but is thinking of starting again…

The rhythm of the worn windshield wipers /matches Mick Fleetwood’s drum beat /and, for a moment, the road is clear, /before the rain begins again to form streaked arches across the glass.

I too am enthuisastic about your poem, even with no edits, however, as a reader of poetry, the long lines I've highlighted need to be broken down, or condensed.  I've given an example, I hope, of how I'd go about it without too much cutting, but I did make some suggested cuts.  It's an absolute trip to read even without a word changed.

TqB

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p.s. Title is perfecto!

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p.s.s.  Slicer is spot on with this description in his critique:  Interesting that it plays like a blurry memory even though it is set in real time, like the character is reliving it afterward. Reminds me of that painting scream. The road straight, the sky swirling-- the prose flat, interspersed with poetry.

Thanks, TranquilityBase. I realized some of the feedback you offered addressed some points that weren't sitting so well with me but I couldn't find the path forward. I very much appreciate the close read.