Friday 28 December 2018

Lovely cocoon.

From where I am sat in the back of the car right now I can see your small, brown head bobbing around. You turn to your right and smile, which makes me smile. The Driver, as we like to call him, is merely a silhouette to me. So tall I cannot see through to the front without leaning round. I remember when I was very little and car journeys made me sick. Now the comfort of The Driver blocking my view, tall and safe and constant, is wonderful.

Sometimes I sit directly behind you. You and your head popping round the front passenger seat, curling your arm around to touch my knee. The way it feels so safe when you hold my hand.

My backseat buddy gets those smiles too. You reach round to touch her knee, and then mine. The Driver does the same as if you are reassuring yourselves that we are still there. We are still there. Sometimes I reach out to hold her hand and she obliges me by sticking her finger out. She says my hands are small and clammy. I bully her into holding it for just a moment.

We spend whole journeys like this. Reaching out to each other, making each other laugh, giving smiles that send love. We sleep a lot. Not The Driver, The Driver is not allowed to sleep. But in the warmth of the back of the car and the lulling of the engine I always manage to nap.

It makes me feel like I am a child again. But in a good way. I am not helpless or afraid. I can exist without you always being there. But in these moments, in these long journeys in the car, I am back in that lovely, lovely cocoon. Our family unit sleeping and driving and being content all the way to wherever we are going next.

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