Everyone was hunched forward and squinting,
trying to see through the flood falling over the windshield.
"This is the turn?" she said, "or here?" All the streets looked the same in the dark, in the rain.
I had no idea. "yes, here i think," she said, starting to dial the phone to find out the exact address.
Her fiance was talking about surfing. "Living is like being on the shore..." he started, signaling his blinker. He struggled a bit with his English before continuing, while the cell phone ring droned against her ear, muffled.
Ominous graffiti of a silhouette in sunglasses reappeared every few blocks, smeared and distorted through the wet window and red taillight glow. "No hay sentido en la vida si todo termina con la muerte" was written beside it. "There is no meaning in life if everything ends with death."
"Hello, this is Maggie. We're a bit lost. Would you remind me of your address again?" She plugged her left ear to hear better. The wipers chopped at the streaming water.
"or like being in a boat..." her fiance continued, "Living is like being in a boat." His black curls bounced as we drove over a pot hole and he looked cautiously in the rear-view mirror. The graffiti bust appeared again. We crossed the railroad tracks and took a left, like we had been instructed to.
It seemed then the rain let up, and love came into his eyes with his next thought.
I leaned forward from the back seat to hear, poking my head between them.
"but dying..." he said,
"that's like being in the ocean."