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This sunlight that has chased me since I stepped out into it this afternoon is warming my face as I drift into dreams. It’s a constant I can feel as I am whisked down the highway. In the background, I can hear Bob Marley whaling out his earthly tones and tunes. The slight burning I can feel on my right cheek is so welcome. It is May and it has been a long winter. This warmth is reassuring to me.

The window is open part way and as we drive further west, the air which is slightly cool begins to change. Everything is good when you are lightly snoozing through these transitions. I awake gently as the car slows. We are leaving the main highway and entering a two-lane road. Even though I am not sleeping I keep my eyes closed now, hoping for the sleep to return, but it does not. Soon, and by slow degrees I open my eyes. We have just passed a garden centre and just after that turn left onto a familiar road, which is also a highway. This area, which had been farmland exclusively until very recently and now sports new housing developments, some finished, some partially and some advertising the plans for homes to come.

I rest my head against the window to catch a bit more warmth from the setting sun and notice once again this little work shed on the side of the road that is covered in hubcaps. Art comes in all shapes and sizes and in the most unexpected ways. I smile slightly to myself. This reminds me of the tree of shoes. This is along a highway on the way to some place I’ve been a couple of times. There is a tree on the side of this smallish highway that has been strung with many different pairs of shoes. It is really wonderful to see this. I’m not sure how the tree feels about it though, although I cannot imagine the harm in this. While I rest my head on the glass, I can see my face in the side mirror. Sunglasses hide my eyes that are weary from a day of work, but my face, which is just starting to show the weather of the years is clearly visible.

I grasp for the driver’s hand and bring it to my leg. I play with its fingers and it taps them to the sound of the music. I glance over to see this woman who means so much to me and I pet the back of her head for a minute. My fingers flitter through her dirty blonde stringy hair and rub lightly on the base of her skull. Then her hand returns to the steering wheel and I return my gaze to the fields flying by.

We are almost there.

I had a few glasses of wine and am very tired now. I must keep my eyes open so I can sleep when I get home. Thank goodness she is driving. Again, I rest my head on the now closed window. This time I look down at the ground whipping by. I try to decipher the patterns on the dirt of the shoulder of the road. Surely, it means nothing, but I try nonetheless. My eyes are bleary so I close them again. She starts talking to me so I listen and bring my head up straight. We talk lightly as people who are so familiar do. Now we are on the main highway again and it is dusk. There is a vast sea of red taillights all around me. It is only 8:30pm, but I am so tired I just know I will flop into bed almost the moment we are home. Night is creeping up on us as it can do; I love the twilight. The drive home is mostly silent, no music for the most part that I recall.

Slowly the darkness wraps itself around us and the air has a bite to it in the absence of the sun.

I enjoy the quiet so much.

We are almost there.

It’s raining out and I’m standing there hoping a taxi will come soon. It’s not so cold out that I couldn’t walk to the bus, and I don’t mind getting wet really. I have just finished working and want to get home; I just want to be home.

I spot a taxi at a red light and focus on this, hoping it won’t turn away or be scooped up by somebody else. As I am intent on this one, another rounds the corner and the light on his roof indicates he is free. I am in luck.

Once I am seated the fellow who turns to me almost makes my heart stop. He has the same colour bandana on his head of another taxi that she and I cursed out at a gas station the other day. This was some stupid dispute over who had arrived at the gas pump first, which was obviously us as we pulled in first. He started cursing at her because she wouldn’t move and I cursed at him. Whatever, shit happens but I didn’t relish the thought of riding in a taxi with this moron. I quickly realize that it is not him and manage to blurt out where I am going, then correct myself and tell him where I am really going. He smiles and comments I must have had a long day.

He is very conversational and divulges that he works 7 days a week and 12 hours a day. I cannot imagine how that could be good for your health and comment that he should take some time off or he’ll work himself into an early grave. He looks to be about 40 years old. He tells me he’s been driving for 20 years like this. Somehow it comes out that he is 55 years old. I am amazed. I ask him why he needs to work so much to which he supplies the most obvious answer. Money.

He tells me that he is divorced and has two or maybe three children close to my age. One of his daughters was Miss. Bermuda he brags quickly before going on about how he is enjoying his freedom so much. According to him not many people get to enjoy their freedom after being in a marriage as long as he was, and sometimes the fools go and get married again. Then he tells me about all his grandchildren, which is why he needs the extra money he says. He needs the extra money to spoil the kids.

Back to the subject of relationships he relays that he thinks that when people first start seeing one another and something the other person does bothers them, they don’t say anything about it until much later. “Because nobody says what is bothering them at first the other person thinks ‘This is the person I was meant to be with.’ By that time they are married and there are kids and if the person had just said what bothered them in the first place then things would have been easier to end right then and there. He has a point. “If people would just realize that they cannot change another person, relationships would be much better. Instead they just think they can change the other person and once they do then everything will be better.” So says the cabbie.

All this and more in an under 10 minute ride. I almost forgot to tell him where to turn. We turn into the street and I have him stop.

“Stop by the driveway with the chain” he says, “I’ve been here before.”

Of that, I have no doubt.