They get in the car and he says drive and she does.
He holds her hand in his lap, tracing his finger absentmindedly along the lines on her palm, and he stares out the window and tries to hear the music in the world a friend once told him to always look for because he doesn't want any more silence, and he just wants that friend back.
She asks where he wants to go and he says anywhere they can't find us and she nods because she understands and she feels like running, like disappearing into the wind as quickly as a dandelion seed.
When she slams on the brakes and gets out if the car, he follows suit because he knows what she's doing, he usually does, and everyone around them honks and shouts but the traffic isn't moving and she can't stand it anymore, the sitting still, and she throws the keys of her car to a young man on the side walk who's clothes have turned to rags and he looks into her eyes the color he thinks chaos might be and puts an arm around her and they keep walking.
They reach the airport and he raises his eyebrows and she shrugs.
He asks where she wants to go as they stand in line at the ticket counter and she says she doesn't care as long as its warm even though she knows the shaking in her hands is not from the cold and he nods because he understands and he wants to see if the sun still shines somewhere.
She holds his hand in both of her own as they wait and it's not because of any facade they're playing out and it's not because she's trying to hide the trembling, and could be because she trying not to pull off her shoes and throw them through the wall, but she likes the way his calloused fingers on her porcelain skin make her feel calm and composed and like everything may not be falling apart.
When they board the plane they are smiling and when they sit down they are laughing because he pretends he's telling a joke, though neither of them are in a smiling mood and he almost can't remember what her real laugh sounds like, but they have to because she knows sometimes the best way to blend in is by standing out and he knows what she's thinking, he usually does, and everyone around them stares in a way that says they want to be happy too but that's the trick, she told him once, because even their happiness isn't real.
They pull up the shade and he looks out the window and she asks about the sky.
He tells her it's bleak and sad and the clouds are grey and he thinks it might rain and wouldn't that be nice to wash it all away, wash the city clean, and she says as long as it waits until they're gone because thunder is loud like a roar and she doesn't want to think about roaring or monsters or the color green and he nods because he understands and says she should look for the music that's always in the world, like he's told her before.
She leans on his shoulder and he kisses the top of her head where her hair still smells like lemons and she says that when the clouds are all white in the middle and dark on the edges her mother once told her it was a goodbye sky because the light was an escape route for the lucky and she says the last time she saw a goodbye sky, she ran as fast as she could in the ice and snow for six days and they couldn't follow her and she made it out.
When the plane is over the endless expanse of blue, he asks when they have to go back, if the have to go back and she says eventually, that they can't run forever, not now that they're in too deep, and he lets out a tired sigh because he knows what she's feeling, he usually does, and she looks into the his eyes the color she thinks calm might be and reminds him that eventually is not anytime soon and this time he smiles for real.
