“Why are you driving so slow?” His finger drummed the dashboard in front of him.
“I’m enjoying the scenery,” I said, witnessing the line of orange poppies lining the road.
“Pull over, let me drive, would you.” Crisp, cut-off words wounded something, didn’t know what, where.
“No, you rush past everything in life. I want to be in this moment.”
“By yourself, right? God, you’re selfish. Maybe not everything happens for you alone. And maybe I don’t want to be late for the first class, and to set up together.”
“Can’t you enjoy this morning? Look at the clouds, don’t you think they look like pirate ships? And the pines?”
“Will you at least let me eat one of your cookies?”
“They’re for the class—“
“—Right, nothing for me, only for your class and your f—in life. You’ve crossed me out.”
I pulled my ten-year-old Explorer over into the grass on the road’s side, crushing flowers. I wilted, tears pushed behind closed lids. “I want—“
“—I don’t need to hear more of your wants, I need to be seen by you,” William said, opened the passenger door and jumped from the vehicle. He stood, stared at me.
“I see you. I thought you wanted to paint as much as I do.” William had a point I didn’t want to define.
“No, I want to be with you, even if doing something superfluous to me.” He walked away.