The seat stretched as far as the eye could see.
As far as my five year old eye could see.
And when I plopped down, the seat sunk so far down, I could barely see out the window.
And the smell.
Its not a smell I can describe.
Its just a smell I know will hit me as soon as I open the door – even 25 years later, it still smells the same.
Its leather…leather mixed with something I can’t quite put my finger on.
But the smell always brings her back.
Sometimes when that car is nearby, I get in the passenger seat.
Turn on old country music.
Close my eyes.
Slouch down in the seat, like I’m five years old again.
Feel the maroon leather against my skin.
Trace the Cadillac emblem with my finger.
Breathe in that sweet smell.
And reach my hand out to the driver’s side.
For a strawberry candy.
Not the cinnamon or butterscotches that Grannie would also have in her pocket or purse, but a strawberry one.
The kind with a wrapper that looked like a strawberry and was gooey in the middle.
Those were my favorites.
And she was my favorite too.
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