Secrets in the Sand

She was staring at him now, deep in his face, as he drove. He was quiet, silent, so silent they could hear the engine whisper. The sun was dying and the sky was a dry orange, the wind was blowing and the trees looked tired. They were driving through his old neighborhood, he loved to take that path, he loved to drive down the old streets, he always said he could see a glimpse of himself, “back in the beginning.” The grass grew high and there was trash in the sidewalks, some of the houses on the block were black. Fire had hollowed their frames and they stood on the sides of the street, empty. He kept his hands on the wheel, he only looked forward. He still cruised, taking the ride through the neighborhood slow, as he always had, it was natural. She was still staring, hoping that he would turn and look at her. He never looked at her, even on good days, he would look out the sides of the windows, to the road, smiling as he watched his old self. He used to talk aloud, knowing that she was listening. “I got into so many fights,” he always used to say, “I remember we used to fight over who could stand on the fire hydrant, whoever stood on top of it was king of them all. Everyone was bigger than me, not just my brothers, all the neighborhood kids too. And I used to fight, my face bleeding red, like that hydrant. And I would sit on top, and I would sit on top and watch the sun die and watch nighttime come.”

He was so quiet it made her scared. She could hear the engine of the car whisper, she let her window down, she could hear the wind. She was sitting in the back seat, he did not…