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A button to turn on his car.
Meanwhile, when I splurged for the new-to-me sedan with just short of a hundred thousand miles currently resting in the snowbank, I was excited about finally having electronic locks.
Oh, and airbags.
Meanwhile, this man has a button to turn on the ignition, leather seats, a space-age-era computer in the dash, and…
My butt is warm.
Cozy andwarm.
I casually sneak my hand down, press my palm to the leather.
Yup.
Warm air is blowing through it.
I don’t realize how cold I am until that warmth begins to sink through my clothes, glides over my skin. A shiver skates through me and my teeth begin to chatter. Cold or adrenaline letdown or…
Steve’s wet nose brushing my throat.
I shudder but don’t push him away.
I could have seriously hurt him if the crash had been worse, could have lost him.
That has me shuddering again.
The man flicks his gaze to mine, and our stares connect in a way that sends my pulse skittering. He’s intense and big and those eyes of his are deep pools of brown and green and gold, as beautiful as a vein of granite I stumbled upon once when I was out hiking in the summer. The hillside seemed to have cracked open, maybe from an earthquake, maybe just because we had a lot of rain that year. Either way, that cross-section of earth had frozen me on the spot for long minutes.
Only when a bird chirped in the distance had the spell broken slightly.
And then I wanted it back.
I took picture after picture, trying to commit the beauty of that moment to memory, to capture every unique facet that had so completely captivated me.
The gold specks sparkling in the sunshine.
The way the green seemed to race the bands of brown from side to side, top to bottom.
The rough texture that was also somehow smooth.
The way nature made something more beautiful than any art I had ever seen.
I filled an entire memory card during the hours I spent there.
And when I got home, I found the pictures I took couldn’t do that spiritual experience justice. They weren’t three-dimensional, didn’t make my heart race, didn’t lift goose bumps on my arms.
I learned then—
Or maybe had it pounded home.
That sometimes, special moments in time are impossible to capture, impossible to hold on to, impossible to keep close.
And sometimes the heavy, dark,terribleones stay bright. They never fade away.
They remain tattooed on my mind forever.
No matter how hard I try to erase them.
