The same song continued to play. She found herself sitting in the backseat of an old and white Mercedes. The seats were beige and made of leather. Her feet were barely touching the floor of the car. She could not put a name to the song that was playing in the background but she knew it was from her parents’ time – a song that belonged in the 60s or 70s.
She couldn’t remember the time of the day, where she was, what she was wearing, what she was doing in the car or how the seats felt under her tiny hands. She couldn’t remember anything else. It wasn’t important anyway because all these didn’t matter. What mattered was the woman sitting in front. The woman turned and smiled at her. She had a face that was kind and full of love. Her voice was soft and gentle.
“Yes, your Godpa and I are senior citizens. And old people listen to old music. One day, the songs you listen to will become old!”
With that, the man sitting on the driver’s seat turned and looked at her. His smile mirrored the warmth of the woman. He started to say something but she couldn’t hear him…
I miss you.
