As I remember it, we would often drive through the Californian darkness late at night, my father and I. We would both be awake, he would ask me if I wanted to go somewhere and I would say yes. We would take his car and just drive, I would sit next to him and look at him in the rear view mirror and thousands of fireflies would dance around us in the dark.
I'm not sure that we really did or if I only dreamed about it, like I sometimes still do (sometimes they're nightmares, sometimes they're not). I don't know if we really passed by all those burning forests or if the sparks I saw were really just cars going the other way, towards the city we had fled from. Maybe they were, and maybe it only happened once or twice, but it sometimes feels as if it was all we ever did.
What I remember more clearly than dreams is how I once fell asleep beside him just before sunset. When I woke up in his car it was to that song playing on the radio - we see things they'll never see, you and I are gonne live forever - and it really felt as if we would.