He laughs, the sound so bright in its rarity. It instantly makes me grin. Even though paparazzi are riding our ass and we’re headed towards one of his big stressors, the air is light and his eyes shine with happiness. He plays AC/DC on shuffle. Soon, we’re singing to “Thunderstruck” together and pounding the wheel and dashboard respectively. He’s rolling down the windows, letting the breeze enter the car. Unworried in this second. This moment. The power of eighties rock, I’d say, but I also know it might be the power of me.
