I know the sound of your wheels

We sat at what was most certainly a stereotypical roadside diner and drank the strongest of coffee, staring across at each other. There was some throwaway soft hit of the 70’s playing on a beat up radio placed haphazardly behind the counter, next to a plastic case covered key lime pie. You asked me if I knew the name of the song, and I answered with a slight sigh, looking out the dust clouded window and wondering to myself, “what next?”

You emptied out your pockets onto the table and said “that is all I have left.”

We had left without warning, nor any kind of preparation. There was an unmade bed and a paper grocery bag half-full waiting behind us. You had shown up that morning unexpectedly, panic painting across your face and electricity in your eyes. Taking me into your arms you threw out the question without really asking, and something inside me clicked on. I grabbed my purse and an old faded sweatshirt, a scarf and hat, and we left.

I think we knew right there we would have to return home, but for one unspoken moment we mutually dreamed of the road, and of leaving together. He would continue on, and I would as well, just in different directions. The road is still his home, and the sound of wheels turning from a distance always brings him back into my mind. He is the sound of wheels, the taste of strong coffee, and the dream of possibilities, to me.

Wheels (live) :: Lone Justice

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