Drive home

It was one of those rare cold days in Miami, the kind that made people walk around town covered in blankets as they often don’t even own clothes that can handle thirty degrees northerly wind. Mike and I were driving back home, country music playing like it usually does these days. Lately, country music had become our car driving tradition. Especially since he’d gotten his pickup truck and decided every drive deserves a soundtrack about open roads and dusty towns.

We’d been talking about life, about Belle, about his school, his future. The big questions that rarely come with solid  answers. He bounced between excitement and uncertainty, wondering what came next. I listened while easing through heavy traffic, brake lights glowing solid red ahead of us.

Then he went quiet.

“What’s up?” I asked.

He stared in the distance for a moment. “I wish life was as simple as country songs.”

The line hit me harder than I expected.

“Me too, brother,” I said. “Me too”

He smiled. Small, but real.

It was one of those moments that, on a surface, don’t seem like much but stay with you forever.