the trip back

I remember clearly how it felt, sitting next to you on the bus down from Whistler in the middle of the night. We sat in the front two seats - not the ones tucked safely behind the driver, but the ones with the panoramic, unobstructed view of the road winding through the dark. The steep cliff to the water to our right was obscured in darkness, for better or worse. I had to close my eyes so I couldn't watch the bends in the road approach at what felt like too fast a speed.

But with my eyes closed, visions of a horrific accident were replaced by the thought of having to leave you again soon. I curled up closer to you and you took my hand, massaging my palm, then each finger in turn. With a few deep breaths I relaxed into the warm, melancholy contentment that swept over me. For the moment I was still with you. I fell asleep with my head on your shoulder only to wake when we arrived.