My wife and I loaded the car for vacation. We were heading to the oldest city in North America presumably entrenched in the oldest argument known to man. The baby was falling asleep again in the carseat. My wife was running late causing us all to run late. She ran to the car in the growing morning light with both our phones in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Both of us were sexually starved. Both of us were actually starved. I thought of how we shared our bodies; how in marriage, neither body is completely ours. The line of separation may not exist within yourself. She placed the water bottle in the console which was the final check mate. I wondered where she thought we would be traveling that there would not be potable water. We arrived late to the meeting point. We met friends, two other couples, one other baby, and ate breakfast hastily before the long drive to St. Augustine. Traffic swallowed us; burped us. The stretch of the Ocala national forest was long green curves. We stopped for gas or just to use the restroom. We let the babies crawl in a field of a rest stop to relieve the confinement of the car.
When we arrived the sun lit the entire metal roof of the rental. The front door was unlocked, the wooden planks of the exterior unpainted, untreated. The front yard was fenced. The three couples diverged to their chosen rooms. We placed our clothes in the drawers. Finally gathering in the living room, we held our phones and discussed what we wanted to see in St. Augustine. When you look at something both your eyes are seamlessly cooperative. The slight difference in sight provides depth, perspective.
I couldn't help but feel love for these fellow travelers, while still wanting to hide it. It's a shame that I don't fully understand yet. I think it's a fear of naiveté. Does that get worse with age? Maybe it's part of what people mean when they say they miss their childhood. Maybe it's one reason people drink. We walked in narrow streets covered in light shaped like branches. Our thoughts were shared. I thought of how we shared our hopes; how as friends, none of us are completely our own. The line of separation may not exist within ourselves.
