It’s raining outside. The kind of rain that nearly penetrates your skin. It’s coming down in sheets. Violent, battering, angry sheets. Everything is so saturated in dampness, I can feel it in my bones. Inside the car, the air is moist and cool. It feels the same on the inside as it does on the outside, but much less violent.
She’s in here with me. It’s just her and I. Her head bounces around in slow motion, like a balloon on a string whose helium has begun to leak. It’s finding a position to settle on; one that takes the least effort to maintain. Her head comes to rest in a way that will leave her with a crick when she wakes up. But for now, it is perfect.
Her lips move. *Smlack Smlack* She’s probably thirsty – her body knows this, but she’s too tired to be bothered. Her eyes flutter, daring to wake. Hair curtains one side of her face.
Two small, soft hands are curled up in her lap. They’ve made themselves into gentle fists. Fists that were ready for a fight and then succumbed to exhaustion. They’re beautiful hands. Clean and little.
Just moments before, we were arguing. She was too hot and wanted her jacket off. We were driving and her jacket had to stay on. She called me mean. I called her ridiculous.
That was then. Now, there is nothing else. The rain is still rain, but it’s out there and we’re in here. She’s small and beautiful and quiet. A perfect sleeper.
There is nothing else.