Passenger Prince in anticlimatic

I had two old flashes of memory tonight. Both in vehicles. The first was waking up in the back seat of a car and climbing to the front. We were en route to one of our first vacations, I think. My dad was driving. I remember the shape of the clouds on top of the road’s horizon while the sun came up. The trees on either side of the road were still black night time shapes, but the sky was lit, and the clouds were all there was to see. I can hear the car. Feel it rumbling beneath me. Passenger to the distant unknown. To whatever was up in those strange glorious clouds.

The other was a parked mini van. I think at someone’s house. And I think it was not my family’s vehicle. A woman. Someone’s mother, was sitting in the middle-back. She had that smell of entrenched motherhood- baby powder, sun tan lotion, and crumb cushions. It was night, and we had been on some long adventure together. I asked her for something- not sure what. Could have been information, could have been a snack- and she turned around, a young round face with dark hair, ready to happily help me with whatever it was that I needed.

I miss being a passenger. I miss the company of motherly women. I love my baby and wouldn’t trade her for anyone, but she’s not motherly. In the game of who looks after who, it’s usually one way with me in the drivers seat. Sometimes I just miss perfumes and fingers in my hair and the smell of a homecooked meal....but I tried all that. Wasn’t for me, except in this rare autumn nights when I crave tenderness.