These days are for driving with my girls. Spontaneous get-in-the-car sunset rides, with a playlist that jumps from one favorite to another as we demand only the favorites and everybody gets a turn. Or one lucky girl controls the playlist. We all say it's a Cage day or a Lana day or a Harry day and we play albums from one end to the next, in complete agreement on the mood. These are not rides for trying out new music. These drives demand a known quantity and an exact mood. And we ride. We get lost as we take random turns through the countryside. We hang a sharp left on sight of a small gravel road, and we see what's down there. We catch glimpses of the sunset's changing colors through the trees and we try to find an open field so we can see the clouds and the bursts of color. We sing together, with all the windows down and we have no holds barred, voices cracking and bursts of laughter at our ridiculous attempts.
We all yell when we pass a Tr*mp sign, and argue about whether or not we would get shot for taking it. We agree that when we pass a Women for Tr*mp sign that's the size of small car that we have gone too far into the country, and we turn around. We shriek in unison as we turn at a stop sign and come face to face with an enormous homemade billboard proclaiming the illustrious accomplishments of the man, and the girls run through their litany of researched wrongs, and I swell with pride at their clever insights. This is how it feels to have your heart walking around out in the world. This. Tumbled mix of closeness, sameness, awareness. All of the things that come together when the little people we make become big people with minds of their own - and we glimpse our own selves in horror and delight. These days are for loving without reservation. For saying what you hold dear and letting them know they are your world, no matter what. For letting your heart and soul shine right out of your eyes because life is too short after all, and there are no guarantees. Whoever rides shotgun that day gets my hand cupped along her cheek and then a gentle tug as I gather her hair in my fist. Don't forget you are mine.
Sometimes the mood is all dream pop and we stare silently out the windows and watch the beautiful fields roll by. In these moments we are each in our own world. Soft comments on beautiful barns, on idyllic homes tucked behind trees, the grazing horses that are so very Milton. One of us remarks on feeling "off" that day, and we let that one choose all the songs, circling around her and letting the sounds soothe the rough edges from the day. We know the drive is therapy, and is the balm for all things in these days. The right road and the right song and the right girls and we know we can get through this day. The music is very loud and we just want to drown every thought and be lost for a small space of time.
The final five minutes are always for choosing the just-right song to end the ride. I listen for Isabella and her puff of "Ugh. Those bee-boxes." Because when we pass that bee-box field we are almost home and it is bittersweet and nearly dark and we long to keep on driving. She chooses Lana. Jadyn chooses Cage. I choose my pandemic anthem and we might just play all three and roll into the driveway late. It hardly matters in these days where time has become something altogether different. There are a number of things I will most remember of this time when the world fell apart and came together and I found pieces of myself all over again. The days that were for driving will not leave me, because they are not yet over.
