Day Three: Talk about a time when you were driving and you sang in the car, all alone. Why do you remember this song and that stretch of road?
“I call her Firefly….’cause oh how, she ray-diates moonglow, wants none-a that noonglow, she starts to glitter as the sun goes down….”
The setting sun is in my eyes and touches the ice that glitters off of the naked, reaching trees on the Taconic Parkway. My world is this moment, this drive to see a friend and everything is perfectly aligned as the blue coils of smoke from my Parliament escape my cracked window into the frigid outer air rushing past at eighty miles an hour. I am singing at the top of my lungs in my best voice and the moment lasts long enough for me to play the song four times.
‘Bout 8pm, I pull into her driveway and switch the brights up, turning my one into two and it’s mayhem.
When I’m moaning low, I go back there, to that drive, that span, that twinkling winterland, when our separation was only hours and not days and there was little to worry about except making it home for a lunch shift two days later. Perfect.