I remember long car rides, cheek shoved against the window, always the left side. screaming matches about pillow boundaries, arguments mended by sour suckers, contests never won nor lost. complaints about hunger overpowered by the river of dreams pouring out in mellifluous waves, never quite loud enough. when apple juice became arizona spiked tea, a pack of cards to a pack of cigarettes… I never told.
I’m sorry for the day I slammed the glass door, said I was disappointed. it’s still broken, but everything else has changed.
