It’s been five years since we piled blankets in the back of his 4Runner and spent the night up on that look out. Dry desert air whipped dust at the windows but you’d have had to shoot us to get us to notice anything but each other. This was our routine. Whenever we could crawl out of bed, we would go for a drive and crawl back into each other.
He greeted me outside the bar, all smiles. Looking as good in my city as I felt when I went back to his. 5 years changes some things. But not as much as you’d think.
Look at you, you’ve gone all Vancouver on me he says
I’m not sure if he’s referring to the fact that I’ve learned how to walk in high heels or that I cross the road with an arrogant authority, but I laugh at the dig and the conversation rolls like open water on a breezy day.
The city closes around us and we’ve run out of things to do on a Tuesday night. Neither of us in the mood for a club and neither of us wanting to leave.
Take me for a drive he says
We go for a drive because that’s what small town kids do when there’s nothing else on the go. We stop at a gas station outside the core and walk up to the glass window that’s for after hours hooligans.
A tin of Copenhagen short cut I say and a bottle of water and an empty slushie cup, if you don’t mind
He laughs the kind of laugh you can only make when you’re happily surprised.
You can take the girl out of Kamloops, but you can’t take Kamloops out of the girl he says
And there we were; two small town kids under a Chevron neon at 2am, itching to get the hell out of Dodge and into each other. 5 years changes some things. But not as much as you’d think.
xo & yw