He’s softened enough to let love in.
To let the universe spin without him countless days in a row.
It inspires me to do the same.
Mile after mile we drive, a river of wheels flowing in each direction.
Freight trucks and campervans to our right.
Pencil listed towns appearing on signs to our left.
Dulacca. Columboola. Goombi.
That last one’s not in the notebook.
“Wake up,” I whisper. “We need to add Goombi.”
Nearing an off ramp just before sunset, I pat his knee.
Nope. Still out like a light.
I don’t want to leave him.
But I’m desperate for a quick dunny dash.
Legs crossed to hold it in, I scrawl him a message.
The only pen and paper I can find is my sketchbook.
Back soon, my love.
Need to pee xx
???
And that was my intention.
Yet somehow, I return carrying three large watermelons.
The owner of the fruit stall carries a couple more.
I try to open the door as quietly as possible.
One of them rolls under the truck.
I lay on my belly to retrieve it.
Marco wakes to find a stranger peering in through the window.
He probably can’t see me down here.
“G'day, I'm Trevor,” the fruit guy says.
I stand to my feet.
“Hey, you. Look what I found.”
“So many,” Marco mumbles half coherently.
