maybe, but not cold.
I spent time winding and unwinding the slack of the seatbelt
between my fingers. We were on our way home, or to her house at least, I am not sure she ever really called it home. From here I could see the side of her face placed over the rushing past city along with most of the dashboard
. There were big airplane
-console like switches to flip with a satisfying snap, they would illuminate in murky greens and flashing danger reds. Five thousand years of civilization spent point focused to bring us these good things. Cruise control
and windshield wipers
, broken left turn blinker
passing cars in the fast lane
. It had been cloudy threatening to rain all day so we were bundled up in sweaters
, fall was always a good excuse to dress up cute and half young again.
It had been waiting for us though, to let go at the perfect moment. Like it knew on that day that it was us alone of them all that would appreciate it properly. One two, three. Four. A couple more.
"...it might finally rain"
It stopped. I watched her under the almost deafening hum concrete and tires going fast, she leaned forwards over the steering wheel
arms folding to cradle it. Peering forwards squinting and trying to divine whether that was all the sky might release tonight. Nine, ten, eleven
. She looked skeptical. She was waiting
for more, hand on the windshield wiper switch ready. Twelve. She stared at the last drop trying to make sure it was just one not two, then back to looking at the road but still hunched over the wheel
. She seemed content, or maybe angry. We didn't talk anymore for the rest of the trip, I just closed my eyes and swayed back and forth with the car on road.
I opened my eyes a little. She flipped the wipers on and all twelve smeared away, I wouldn't have done that
to them. I always liked to watch the little drops cling tight and dance jittering in the wind. We never were the same deep down, or maybe even much on the surface.