Sorry

"Wow, you're all grown up now," he said with a slight frown that was meant to look like the face of a focused driver.

"Yeah."

I didn't know what else to say. I wanted to tell him that yeah, of course I grew up. That's usually what happens when time goes by. Did you forget all that while you were in your little Never-land heaven with her?

I keep quiet, though, let the road noises do the talking. His deepening frown likes tell me he knew what I was thinking. There's one wrinkle that's deeper than the rest, cutting right down the middle of his forehead. it almost looks like it hurts. I want to reach out and touch it, smooth it out with some spit on my hand like it's a stubborn cowlick. I want to tell him I'm sorry for growing up, that if I had a say in it I'd relive the summers of my youth for eternity.

Instead, I reach back into the backseat and adjust the luggage. I can't believe we fit our lives into two beat-up suitcases each.

"Think we'll make it to the station on time?"

I checked my watch.

"I hope so."

Am I really doing this?