Mandarin Oranges

We were driving. We were more than driving, we were laughing and I was free. I opened my arms, my eyes, to the majestic autumn mountains, breathing in the faint taste of pumpkin patches, and smiling that I had been released of my prison.

It was cold. Too cold for the three-quarter length shirt I sported, hoping that if I dressed like it was still September that it would be. I held my breath; if only to swallow this inevitably ending moment, opening my palms to grasp what this freedom felt like.

Words like Keppra and Chemo didn’t exist there, the grass wouldn’t understand it, and the wind wouldn’t allow it.

I took pictures just in case one day I couldn’t remember how the cerulean sky was painted and the way the world spun, but it is so ingrained in my being, you can see Polaroid’s of it every time I blink.

We ended where we started; back in the car, laughing. I rolled the windows down, wanting to drive with the breeze until it would be too cold for this sort of thing. I drove about a mile before I realized we were both shivering uncontrollably and that it already was too cold.

I guess when I asked God for a favor I had to be more specific. I always seem to leave the most important detail out- that what I asked for would stay.
But it’s okay that you didn’t stay, because now words like Keppra and Chemo don’t exist here, and you left a trail of mandarin oranges.

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