Sometimes I wonder if these moments still happen, the ones exploding with unbridled joy.
The girl and her friend climbed into the back of the truck, just as a song about losing those moments came on the radio. The music pulses with an optimism that defy the lyrics, as the singer is walking home from the bedside of a dying friend, and watching the beauty of youth and hope all around him on the street.
And somehow that soothes him. But he’s still on the outside.
The girl’s friend demanded they both put their heads out the window. I turned up the radio and watched them in the rearview mirror, these wonderful, joyful Labradors that weren’t Labradors at all, but what used to be 6th graders, looking at a summer of freedom through eyes squinted against the wind. They screamed and laughed and yelled ridiculous things to no one in particular.
And I was the singer, watching the beauty of youth and hope.
And somehow it soothed me. But I was still on the outside.
Sometimes I wonder if these moments still happen, the ones exploding with unbridled joy.
They do.