She was tired, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep her eyes open. I didn't mind, I've always seen it as a token of trust, to be able to succumb to sleep, leaving me to drive the distance home. In fact, I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Across the horizon, a full moon drifted in and out of clouds, giving light to the road where street lamps were absent. The window was cracked, allowing smoke to escape and let some of the cool air mix with the heat bellowing from the vents. The howl of the wind was dulled by the dancing music energized by the late hour.
Given the chance, I snuck glances at Gail's peaceful complexion, made visible by the beams of oncoming traffic. Her hair, pulled back with the same handkerchief she wore when we first met, and the same perfume scented the air. Each bend in the road caused her to stretch and reposition herself back to sleep. Sometimes she would stir, opening one eye at me and extending a smile while turning up the music. I wished we could drive all night, settling on the long way home.
1 comment:
Mike, you're really getting better. I think it has been really good for you to layer fantasy over memory like that. I think it keeps some of the stiffness away from your work that was present when, for instance, you were writing about erin or the homeless guy. I think your writing about real people kept the characters from being fully dynamic and real, as if you didn't want to betray your actual but realistically limited understanding of them. That limitation made them distant and, although they had basis in actuality, they actually seemed less believable.
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