driving home

"You don't like when I drive fast, do you?" he asked.

"I don't mind," I replied.  "Ever since ------ died, when you drive really fast, I feel like I'm rising up, like I could almost fly.  I feel like I can feel him.  I feel like he's right behind the clouds, that he isn't really gone, but just hiding, just behind the clouds.  Do you know what I mean?"


I used to be terrified when Jim drove fast.  He loves to drive fast.  To him, it's not fast.  He loves to fly over a clear open highway, and I know he throttles it under 100 mph for me.  I absolutely trust his driving.  He's an excellent driver, and he knows how to handle a car.  It was not his driving that terrified me.  I was terrified of other drivers.  I was terrified that for some reason, they would swerve into our lane, and I would be crushed to pulp.  But ever since... I'm not terrified anymore.  Death will find me, sooner or later, and that's OK, because maybe we just hide behind the clouds and wait to receive each other in our embrace again.