it is almost too warm for a sweater so i roll down the window and search for a station with my right hand. the air is warm and damp and the breeze entering my truck is perfect. depeche mode is on eighties at eight and i am suddenly a junior in highschool again. laura is unwrapping her eighteenth Cure bootleg next to me. valerie loves me, she sings, and butterfield becomes a blur of tail lights behind us. i am over it: we have escaped another winter & i have finally allowed his hot chocolate to cool in my cup holder untouched. tonight i find my friends easily because i can identify the distinct shape of marius's head from behind.
"congratulations," i tell him with a hug as john passes out his photographs from new york city. we are all slowly moving on and away from ourselves. we find our thermal pajamas where we left them four years ago and we snuggle into our twin sized comforters. i find a little piece of myself in the truck on the way home, windows rolled down, listening to eighties music that makes me think of used cd stores and laura.
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