I drove because I liked this song and I played it again and again. We chased a parade of leaves down the street and they ran ahead and turned into a flashmob, swirling and pointy fists pumping into a cyclone until they dispersed casually to the sidewalks and under cars.
I drove and the dirty white clouds reminded me of fall birthday parties and sleeping bags and how I never did fit in and how good it was to go home.
I drove, and felt a delicate thread through my heart separating me from extreme sadness and absolute happiness. And I wavered there, and then the song that was on gave in to what could have been. Dreams I have, people I want to be, lives that I'm certain I've already lived (but I haven't), so real they even have their own memories, and longings.
And I could actually grieve what never was.
I glance in my rearview mirror at her in her pink car seat, she's fallen asleep, with peace on her face. The sight of her still a shock and surprise, at her dark feather-lashes squeezed tight and God's breath -not mine- passes through me and I understand.