Suddenly, I'm bumping over the white children holding hands.
Sometimes I think I don't take driving seriously enough. Right now, this very instant, I could simply swivel my wrists to swerve into that great white page,which is sometimes florescent windows and sometimes a deserted schoolyard and sometimes just nothing. And then these strangers witness my crash and burn when really I just keep on flying toward the sun in a new blue fur coat.
On the dash the plastic face of the speedometer is all greasy with rainbows and quite beautiful. I wonder what he thinks of me, whether he'll take me back into his folds, his warm bat cloak and rub my cheeks with his thumbs, him glowing and me blushing pink all over. So I text him but the stairs flipped upside down and I can't quite reach him. His shadow is near though, and flipping around in this giant blanket room. Is that him walking backwards along the speedometer? I'm inside out a disco ball since every way I look mirrors and windows, framed panes all look the same, and I worry, Maybe I'm just driving in reverse but I don't know it.
I'm driving slowly down a long road, the same drive I drive everyday, past storefronts that all look the same, and the weather is the same hazy nothing with the quality of heaviness about to drain. Everything the same angle and distance from me, rearview, dashboard, asphalt, storefronts, squeaky blue plastic seat, sun,lack of air, the smell of the boy like sweet almonds, the staircase. I'm just a head floating in place and a great hand is turning a great globe around me, stopping in near imperceptible clicks for me to register- black bowler hat, a child tugging his mothers sleeve, a shadow that's running away from his body, and around the corner toward the sun.
I'm not really moving, everything else is swirling and making faces at me in all these mirrors. I'm driving slow as if I know I'm driving toward his refrigerator arms, empty space and he won't be able to look me in the eye. We'll both deny it's true.