Do you like cars? He asked.
I considered for a moment with my brows pinched. Depends, I decided. I don’t like cars at a right turn, but I like cars in highways tunnels under monochrome lights.
He put on the smirk that said he was entertained by me to have answered with all seriousness. I half-heartedly pouted to please him further. How easy it all is.
We were quiet for a while. He rested his hands on the steering wheel while we stared at the road rolling over. Tame Welsh farmlands, wizened old trees. Layers and layers of grey clouds on the far end. He was humming a tune under his breath. I didn’t know if he's aware when he does that.
Let’s play word association, I said. No names, no locations.
Sure, he said.
Water, I said.
River, he returned. “Houses.”
“Ruins. Farm.”
“Seagulls. Teeth.”
“Eggshells.” I said, and then paused to add, “Why farm and seagulls?”
I don’t know, he said. Why teeth and eggshells? He asked in turn.
Well, when one eat eggs, the only way to tell if there are eggshells is through one’s teeth. I said, then become quiet.
After some time--a millisecond, an hour, or a year? He sighed and gave in. Are you mad at me? He asked.
“No.” I was brusque. We became quiet again. I turned my head to the side window so I didn’t have to look at him.
He started humming his tune again. I thought to myself, a fishbowl cannot be death because it is never life.
2024/9/5