Riding the I-95

I wonder if they see me, warmy esconsced behind the tight restraints of the seat belt in the passenger's side of the Range Rover. I think back to years in secondary school watching with envy the seniors, and when I got older the classmates, who would receive their suave admirers at the Love Garden, transported there in cars borrowed from parents. Years later, I would watch with a mix of curiosity the couples wheezing by while I huddled at the bus stop waiting on the bus or at the stop light waiting for it to turn green; both of which in extreme weather, would take their painfully, sweet time.

now i wonder who sees me, jetting down the i-95 in his silver grey range rover with the beige leather interiors. wonder if they see that we hold hands as we cruise. wonder if they know that we have already had two tiffs about what music to listen to and that the first time, - won and the second he let me win. jazz it is. i know i amgoing to pay for this on the return trip. he listens to middle eastern rap. but no worries, i have ear plugs.

wonder if they see that i am happy to be on this trip. wonder if he knows. wonder if he understands that right now, right this moment, it does not matter where we go but that we go together. wonder if he knows.

wonder who sees me, happy to be riding the i-95