Backseat Window

I remember way back when my dad would be the designated driver and my mom accompanying him at front, while the three of us siblings would be uttered to take the backseat. Brother and I would adeptly play 'older people get the window seat' ploy and peg our little sister in the uncomfy middle seat. We were loving siblings though.

That window meant a world to us, we'd take our seats and start looking out the window, like watching television. Our sister would get to share the window with both, me and brother, shifting from him to me, vice versa, to catch the best view. She'd lay her head on our shoulder like an angelic child and pretend to love one more than the other, depending on which side she'd want to catch a glimpse of.

Now I think of it, that window was more than a television screen - it was like an abbreviation, of life. We'd see a certain something out the window and as the car rolled on, that particular sight would budge back eventually unfolding a new set of reel. No matter how hard we tried to catch another glimpse of what we just saw, we never actually earned a second view. If we forced to look back the window, we'd miss the next sight, and on. Sometimes, it'd be something humorous, and sometimes, saddening - but it changed everytime. We'd wait, staring outside the window, for another moment, hoping for a better sight.

That window was our little world, packed with various moments of life, in frames. Those leisure car trips were priceless but they made all three of us realize how life always has another moment to come by, happy or sad, but it'll come, it'll change, and it'll be something new.

I miss that window.