Two blue tubs of clothes and things. A computer, a PS3, a skateboard. The trunk full, we get into the car.
Everything askew, everyone in different spots.
My husband in the passenger seat where I usually travel.
Me in the back, where The Boy has always been.
The Boy in the driver's seat, 15, learning to drive.
This time, instead of a week's clothes, he's packed them all.
This time, instead of "Have a good visit...", we'll say "goodbye".
This time, a boy who has been mine for the last 8 years is going to be hers again.
I watch my husband's eyes as he carries a blue tub to their porch, and my heart breaks.
Letting The Boy try a year with his mom is harder than I expected when I agreed to help ask my husband's permission.
Leaving The Boy with a woman who has been such a small part of his life for the last 12 years, so much crazier in practice than in theory.
I slide into the driver's seat, watching them say goodbye.
Everything askew.
I glace at the rearview mirror at the seat where The Boy has always been.
I've forgotten how to breathe.
I've remembered how to drive while I cry.
rating: 15
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