Only the Front Seats

Living in the suburbs, I've been seeing a lot of cars full of families -- a dad, a mom, and some kids in the back. It's felt threatening to see, like their existence is a reminder that I could be driving a car like that someday, and that turns my stomach. I feel such a sense of alienation, like I couldn't possibly belong in a car that had a woman and her children in it, even if I were her husband and their father. I feel like there would be a translucent green forcefield that separated the driver's seat from the rest of the car, and that I shouldn't cross it with my body or words.

But then when I think about driving with just a lady, who is my wife, that feels very nice. It makes me think I would like to get married. It's a feeling I've been getting more often lately, especially when I am lying in bed, looking at the curtains framing the window in front of me. The idea of lying there with someone else feels wonderful to me these days.

I think that down the road, I will feel fine with driving little folks around; I think I know how to avoid allowing the green forcefield to gain a hold. But I guess there are a lot of steps that would have to fall into place before any of the things I've mentioned here could happen.