Evanston

I remember getting the bright idea to do the weekend thing we did sometimes where we'd spend the day driving to Wyoming for Cloves.
We stopped for gas near Park City at those pumps that have the talking news. He'd gone inside for a candy bar and when he came back and it started talking it startled him so much he threw the candy bar at it.
His expression was timeless. I giggled out loud. I was happy we were together again. I didn't mind it when we laid around and had intense conversations. And we did that pretty frequently. We were intense people, and driven by each other and our passions we became more intense. We loved it at this point. We were certain of our future together. We wanted each other. It was the singular moment in time I knew for certain I was the only girl he had.
That weekend though I wanted us to get out. Get air. Spend some time debating each other in the car as usual on Depeche Mode lyrics, or just hold hands and joke around about life and our friends, and our plans for October and forever. He told me he dreamt of it sometimes. He dreamt as often as I did, and could recall his dreams beter than I. I don't know how much of it was true, but it was romantic and I didn't care about the fantasies he spun. I cared only about the hurtful lies. I actually loved the fantasies.
That day was not to be at all as I expected. We were talking about the future and at some point I started talking about when he was going to finalize his divorce. He was practically living at my place at that point. Taking my car to work everyday. It set him off as it always did and we spent part of the drive fighting. We were over it by the time we got to Evanston. We got to the cigarette store excited as could be. That was until I realized I'd locked the keys in my car. I'd told no one where we were going and we were in a completely different state. He told me not to panick. So we waited for the cops to show and put the hanger in the car to pop the lock. We sat jovial again smoking our beloved cloves, his a black- mine a menthol.
When we got back into the car an hour later we stopped at the diner in town for dinner. It was the one and only time I've smoked in a restaurant. It was liberating. I bought a shot glass in the diner that day and we walked across the street to the bar hooked to the liquor store. We played pool and somebody put Nickelback on the jukebox. He beat me, as he always did. And we drank Jager bombs as we always did. It was such a day.
On the drive home I realized I'd gone through half of the cloves I bought as I twirled my ring on my finger. Holding the cig out the window I felt the cool night air brushing my hand. Sleep Theif played quietly in the background and I was content. We were headed home together and had survived not only an argument but a misadventure.
It was one of our last, but I loved it.