Rolling one medium, brown suitcase through DFW Airport to the shiny blue-black man who drives a yellow cab.
Nigerian, he has lived here for the last fifteen years and knows Dallas like the back of his hand—he says.
The taxi careens onto the freeway.
Buckled into the backseat, I tell him I’m in no hurry.
I would usually tell him to go through downtown—take I-35 South heading toward Waco, exit Laurel Land. Heading home.
Yesterday I signed the divorce papers.
Tomorrow is my birthday.
Today I’m going another route, planning a couple of stops along the way. I ask Joseph the driver to just keep the meter running, if he doesn’t mind.
Joseph asks, why should he mind.
First stop is University Park, SMU campus. An English major. Twenty years ago.
I ask Joseph to take a picture of me with my iPhone in front of the student center where Mary Hernandez English major, Bridget Matthews theater major, and Nancy Rodes science major and soror would meet every day. We’d dream about who we’d marry, if we’d marry, children, careers, travel.
I squint into the sun—Joseph clicks.
I left Dallas right after graduation. Moved to and married in Chicago. No