One time when it was my turn back there, up there, the wind whipping my hair, my shirt billowing and flapping around me, the road straightened out enough that Amber sucked the lights back into the truck and just plummeted us ahead into the inky darkness, and my eyes were watering and my cheeks were slapping my teeth and my gloved fingers were hurting from the edges of the rust craters, but I could have stood there forever, I think. Someone I trusted more than myself was at the wheel, I mean, and her foot was in it, and the whole world, it was sort of ours. For the last time.
