… runnin’ away with me.
It was just my imagination
runnin’ away with me.
The other day my partner and I were on the freeway en route to grabbing brunch with her father and sister.
I looked out the window; the sky seemed without depth. It seemed to exist only as flat shade of light gray that nearly matched the infinite concrete freeway divider.
A few robust drops of rain found their way to the windshield, though not enough to warrant the wipers. The force of the moving car brushing up against the crisp October morning air forced the drops up the windshield and over the roof, leaving shaky dissipating tails in their wake.
These traveling drops of water reminded me of a memories from long ago.
When I was about seven years old, my brother and I were in the back seat of my parents’ car on our way to our grandparent’s house in San Francisco. It was pouring as we were crossing the Bay Bridge, and there were numerous globs of water making their way along the rear passenger-side windows.
“Look, Andrew,” I exclaimed, “doggie races!”
The drops of water were coming together to form larger pools, and as they streaked along the windows it seemed as though they were jumping, dancing and snapping at one another. I pointed out two “doggies” running parallel to one another, jockeying for position, nearing the end of their track.
My brother’s eyes grew wide and a careless grin spread across his face. He saw it too.
We passed the time by picking “doggies” and watching them race towards the finish line. On the rare occasion that two would run into each other, we would smile and laugh–do-over. This evolved into the two of us calling the race. We would do the play-by-play in high pitched voices meant to emulate excited broadcasters we had heard on radio or television.
Eventually we both grew tired of this. In our state of mild exhaustion we probably grew irritated with one another and started fighting over who’s hand was resting too far on the other person’s “side.” Very little ended civilly between my brother and me when we were growing up.
Nevertheless, the memory now leaves me wondering, What happened to my imagination? I mean, I know that as I have come to better understand how the world and some of the things contained upon this planet work, some of the magic and imagining of why things could be as they are begin to fade. But sometimes I wonder if there was a threshold through which I passed that left my imagination nearly irrevocably broken.