It took three hours to drive from Boston instead of the usual two
The traffic was heavy for miles into the state border

I loved my time with C & E - it’s only a glimpse of many more excursions between the three of us girls as we all age

E, learning her street smarts, independently walking a quarter of a block ahead of me
Making sure she’s the one who tells us which “T” connection to make
The Red Line takes us back to Broadway
The Green Line to Haymarket Square
She has a dream to ride all of the tracks of the subway, someday...

The man from the Chinatown dress shop...
Odd that he remembered who I was...it had been over a month since I’d been in there...
What was he saying about long sleeves and America Miss?
“Long sleeves are ugly”, he said, when I asked about the Chinese style of a particular blue, silk dress

The favorite museum highlight for C & me is the lighted glass where we sit across from one another and can see both of our reflections.
Our faces are identical in size and shape - but seeing her with my wrinkles makes us both laugh, hysterically. The more I laugh, the more she wrinkles.

Now, I see her image in my rear-view mirror
With the headlights from the cars behind us casting her shadow up at the dash...
She’s braiding her hair, while moving her head to the beat of the music

E has just finished reading umpteen chapters from her book in the front next to me and now her head is nodding off
I look at her profile every chance I can - it is intriguing to me - she appears so different than me
Her features are sharp and clear
Her brow - we laugh and say she only has one, not two...and it is beautiful the way it sweeps in curves above her eyes
Her skin soft, with thousands of tiny silken hairs along her cheeks that reach her neck in a soft swirl - she is so delicately attractive.

I drive with my left hand at the bottom of the steering wheel
while my right flicks the stations until I find one
and then land on a local Boston station that has a live interview with a couple of women musicians that I’m familiar with
They’re playing at the Paramont and will be back in the summer...something to consider

I move my hand down slightly to touch the cassette dangling out of the player
and flick it inward to listen, ironically
To the same women being interviewed.

I look down at my right hand - at my palm - at my fingers - at my pinkie ring...
I must have looked at my hand intermittently while waiting for the traffic to let up
I was thinking of something deep -
When I noticed C’s voice
Asking me if my hand was all right.

It could be
I thought...

Cross my fingers
Pinkie promise
Thumbs up...
My point is, I want to move on...

Shake my hand.