She’s laughing, her left hand holding the rim of the straw hat barely sitting atop her head. My fingers trace the leather steering wheel, flexing with every turn. Our hairs are a mess, thrown into a disarray with every turn of the needle on my speedometer. The smell of ocean is everywhere; it overpowers her sweet perfume and the citrus tang of the oranges in the back seat. I focus on the road ahead – the steep bend disappearing behind the rock face, the steel guard rail separating us from the sheer drop into the crashing waves below. The yellow lines pass by my left, blurring into a constant line of sunlight against a dark night. She looks out over the horizon, bringing her free hand to shield her Ray-Ban hidden eyes from the harsh brightness. There’s not a dark cloud in sight. She points at a sailboat in the distance. It’s just a speck, but she’s in love with it. I hear a dream about a private yacht, sailing to the Caribbean, and a week of soul finding and lovemaking. I take another puff from the cigarette hanging loosely between my middle and index fingers. The grey smoke escapes with a gentle sigh, disappearing behind us as I guide the car through another pass. 

Stands of golden hair threatening to float away in the gentle wind, freckles spotting the ridge around her nose – these were my measures of the sky and the stars. The idyllic restfulness painted on her face, the contentment in her eyes – they were my bearings, my guide in the moment of absence. I cradled her head in my lap, my fingers running through her hair like a child in a field of wild wheat stalks. Her eyes were closed, gentle breaths escaping her mouth. The sound of rustling leaves soured overhead, mingling with the rhythm of the pounding waves in the distance. Strands of grass licked at my bare feet as I slipped a hand beneath her cotton shirt to run gentle circles upon her bare stomach. She giggles. I lift her head and place it on the green carpet. Licking my lips, I roll myself over, a hand planted on each side of her head. A smile. With an orange sun and a pink sunset as our only witnesses, she was mine – even if for a moment. 

A blue moon and a sky full of stars. With a hand on her shoulder and another on her waist, I lead her in our waltz. My left foot slides forward as hers slides back; the right follows suit and we move in an arc, my forehead leaning against hers. Pale rays kissing the golden strands flowing down the span of her back. Soft eyes and and sad smile. I can’t look her in the eye. She pulls her head back slightly and buries it beside my neck. I place my cheek against the top of her head, holding her tight. We’re no longer moving, primordial mannequins framed in a single shot. The moonlight is as blinding as a spotlight. With her touch comes conviction and vindication. She pleads with me. I can feel droplets running down her side of my neck. I pull her closer and nuzzle my face into her hair. She smells of cherry blossoms and winter.  

Memories lingering in the back of my repertoire of escapades from which I draw when I need to run from this world.