Her Hair on the Grey Car Seat

“The service was amazing today. I think I need an extended version, don’t you baby?”

I turn my head, expecting her response and she just sits there, gazing at me with those innocent, hazel brown eyes I call stars. She’s so beautiful, I think to myself. Right in that moment, we sit there looking into each other’s eyes and she smiles that smooth smile that lets me know she loves me without her needing to speak the words. I could never master that look so I know whenever she does it, I’ll place my hand on her face and whisper ‘I love you too, baby’.

She was always better at expressing herself in different ways.

We sit in the car and relish that moment for a good ten minutes, interrupted by her phone buzzing. It’s time for her to go, and I’m so proud of her. She’s worked her way to a big promotion as marketing manager at The Bridge Publishers and she’s ecstatic. I’ve been fighting the agony of being away from her since the minute she broke the news to me, but her emotional intelligence was too advanced. I could barely hide a flinch without her asking questions.

“I know you’re sad baby, it’s okay. I’ll miss picking your socks more than you’ll miss me”, she teases me and puts the weight of her head on my palm.

I chuckle and then choke on the lump in my throat.

“I’m proud of you!” I exaggerate my excitement, still fighting the urge to cry.

She puts her hand on my thigh and her ring band sparkles as the sun hits it. It’s like it was yesterday when I married her. The flamboyant girl with the kindest heart in the room, she has the best voice too and I recall all the times I’d walk over to her desk in class to ask her foolish questions just to hear her speak.

I look up at her again and her face is blurry. I’m crying. She pulls my face to hers and our foreheads touch. When did I become so soft? She cups my face in her hands and wipes the tears off my cheeks with her index fingers. She has the longest, prettiest fingers I’ve probably ever seen.

I avoid eye contact and focus on her brown hair; a few strands are bending over her shoulder while some stick onto her seat. She smells like clean linen and strawberries. I force back the new flood of tears and clear my throat. She’ll be late for her flight if we keep this up. I give her gentle peck on the lips and fasten my seatbelt. She settles back into her seat beside me and pulls out her black ‘no name’ shades from the fanny pack on her lap.

I smile at the fanny pack because it reminds me of our Saturday walks in the park. She wears the bag diagonally, across her chest and not around her waist like the average person. That’s one thing I ought to emphasize…my wife was no average being. She was an angel. My angel. I wish I could’ve told her that more. That she was the pivotal point of my entire life.

I start the engine and drive into the main road, headed for the airport. It’s about thirty minutes away so we have time to argue over who has the best playlist and who loves the other more.

Ten minutes into the drive, we aren’t arguing over songs or speaking much. Her hand is on my neck and she’s looking at the views we’re driving past. I want to spark a conversation but the silence is sacred, so I restrict myself and enjoy the feeling of her long fingers moving along the nape of my neck.

I keep fighting the urge to stop on the side of the road, step out, walk over to her side, open her door and take her in my arms. I’m not sure when it started but the radio static is getting louder by the second as we drive along the narrow, gravel road, avoiding traffic on the highway.

I feel the lump in my throat again and immediately break our silence.

“I love you Zoe!”

“Stop the car!” she shouts straight after my proclamation.

I halt and stop the engine. We’re both breathing heavily and she steps out of the car first. I can’t move my legs all of a sudden, but my eyes move with her as she paces to my door. She opens the door slowly and our grey Ford Territory is beeping.

“I’m scared too. I can feel your fear. I thought I could hold it in and cry it out after you left but...” she throws her arms in the air as a sign of surrender to her feelings.

“Come here”, I whisper.

We hold one another on the side of the road, outside of our car, for a good ten minutes. She’s definitely going to be running like a mad man when we arrive at the airport.

“We’re going to be fine, right?” she’s giving me that look again. That ‘I don’t know what to do’ look.

“Baby, my heart is yours wherever you go and wherever I am. We’ll call and text and call and text and I’ll visit often. It’ll be over before we both know it and we’ll be together again. Who knows, maybe I’ll land a business deal in your building and have to share your office. Don’t doubt our God for a second, woman!”

I’m confident after I say those words to her. I land a peck on her forehead and she skips back to her door to get in the car. That’s a thing she does when she’s working off frustration or shaking off a bad feeling. It took me ten months to figure just that mannerism out while we were dating. Man, I love this woman.

I step in and the atmosphere is lighter. We can breathe and the lump in my throat is gone. We just needed to get that out and be vulnerable. I chuckle at the thought that comes and share it with my beautiful wife whom I love so much more than I did thirty minutes ago.

“I can’t wait for you to get back so we start working on our book; ‘The revelations from marriage’. It’ll be a banger!”

We both laugh.

She sounds like my favorite song, laughing out loud with the fast air blowing at the sound and giving it rhythm.

We’re at the airport in about fifteen minutes and her feet are on my lap. She’s been looking at me the entire time, breaking into sobs and smiling. I know I’ll miss her the minute I drive off but I’m done sobbing and raining on this parade. My wife is living in the fruits of her hard work and dedication, I don’t know anyone in her industry who scouts writers and masters the market how she does. She deserves this and I want the last picture she has of me, in her mind, to be my big and proud smile as a husband.

Everything else from check in to her walking through that tunnel thing to board the plane, is a blur. I don’t recall anything else after that.

That’s the dream. Every night since the plane crash report on my television, I replay that day in my head and dream it in my sleep. I’m stuck in that day. It’s been a year since I lost her and I can’t shake off feeling like it was just yesterday that I saw her last. Smelled her hair. Kissed her face. Sometimes, at work I walk to the car to sit in it and imagine her sitting there, looking at me with her brown hair strands bended over her shoulder and some stuck on her seat.