Spoiled and Melting

"Then looking upwards

I strain my eyes and try

To tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites

From the passenger seat as you are driving me home."

I got in the habit, years ago, of riding in the passenger seat. Two years of being here, alone, without Joey. In the habit of riding in cars with other people, people who love to drive. I got spoiled, never having to drive, always being in the passenger seat.

I like to relinquish control. In this way, and in other ways too -- forever, I've assumed (I've written about this before, I'm sure) that it's a reflex, a "fuck you" to the control I have in my professional life. I can't tell my boss to fuck off when he tells me I need to do some work that will, surprise surprise, take up much more of my holiday than I want. I have to be there late. I do things that require a lot of self-disclipline. There.

But here, I don't want to take control. Don't want to be in the driver's seat. Literally.

But Joey also doesn't like to drive, and he usually sleeps in the car, so I end up at the wheel, listening to Death Cab or TV on the Radio, my hand on his leg as he drifts off.

But sometimes, I'm lucky. He's awake, takes the keys in his hands. I sit in the passenger seat and relax. Spoiled. Melting. I'm not too hard to please, really. Sometimes, I just want to be a passenger. This, and nothing more.

"With my feet on the dash

The world doesn't matter.

When you feel embarrassed then i'll be your pride

When you need directions then i'll be the guide

For all time."