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"and, baby, when we get there i'll do everything for you"
the road channels out in front of me and your headlights cast a bright swath over the asphalt. the trees get their spotlight when you turn into the countryside. between waking and sleeping, the hills bound like running rabbits and the dark calms me. you hum leadbelly from the car's cassette player. old howard's dead and gone . . .
leadbelly becomes robert johnson. your voice mixes with the thrum of the engine and i lull asleep. this time, i dream i convinced you to take a plane home from london. instead of following a rainy back-road, we're taking naps at 30,000 feet.
i don't wake again until you nudge me. we're in a town with little buildings and houses. feeling prickles back into my legs.
"hey," you say, leaning into the open passenger door. your voice is deep with fatigue. i clutch your fuzzy sweater to find some ground. a whine presses behind my lips.
we're stopped in front of a 24-hour diner: i catch outlines of people eating in the booths.
you pull at my hand. "do you know what day it is?"
"no," i groan. my mind hasn't yet caught up to my body. "where are we, robert?"
"shenstone . . . it's your birthday today. happy birthday, my dear."
i strain. you've still got a hold on me. the clock in the car reads 12:04 am.
a smile edges at the corners of my lips. i nod and look up at you. your face is crinkled and worn. "it is my birthday," i affirm.
"it is. what was first on your list for this year?" you ask with a raised pitch in your voice. if you weren't so tired, i imagine you'd pick me up and spin me around.
"oh! chocolate chip pancakes," i tell you. a giggle bubbles in my throat as you finally get me out of the car. rain puddles leave crystal spots in the parking lot, reflecting the moon and the black-purple sky.
you're warm in the chill of the night and i cling to you as we walk up the steps to the restaurant. you told me a month ago to make a list of everything i wanted for my birthday. i crafted it carefully: pancakes, a day in bed, going berry gathering, and taking the horses for a gallop.
we take seats at the bar where the waiter asks our orders. you get a coffee and i hover near you to take its warmth. my pancakes come fresh from the griddle with powdered sugar on top. the chocolate melts when i cut into them.
"this is good," i tell you.
"your food?"
"no . . . i mean, yes. but being here with you is good. i'm glad we're driving home."
you smile and take my hand from my lap, rub the chill away with your palms. "i have something to tell you."
i bite my lip and laugh. i get so giddy with you. "what?"
leaning into me, your hair brushes my cheek as you whisper soft in my ear, "i love you." you pull away to see my reaction, but i gesture you closer to play the same game.
"i love you," i whisper back and kiss you lightly on the cheek. i would press my lips to yours, but there are coal miners and truck drivers sitting and having midnight meals. i let my fingertips kiss you instead, rubbing at the corner of your mouth. "are you hungry?"
"a little." you nod your head toward my plate. "are you willing to share?"
"of course." i pass the pancakes over to you and watch you pour syrup over them. you told me when we met that you had a horrible sweet tooth, a craving for sweet things.
"like me?" i'd asked.
the grin you gave me in return . . . "yes, like you."
"i loved you the first time i met you," i tell you again, fiddling with the napkins on the counter.
"i did, too. like having tunnel vision. you were the only thing i could see."
i reach up and fix a misplaced curl on your shoulder. "your hair was longer then."
"and now it's shorter. but you're still here, despite it all." there's bustling in the kitchen, orders called out and steam rising, but still, i hear the ache of sadness in your throat.
"i'll always be here," i tell you.
you turn my way, eyes open and clear, like in photos from your youth. "promise?"
i hook my pinky with yours and give a solid shake. "promise."
(i'm gonna say it . . . mullet robert was a good look. also, a very happy birthday to @1-800-NORDIK <33)
