The oglet spent a good deal of time trying to find the right dress, and found one that was beyond stunning. Shoes came next. Something that would show off her athelete’s legs and not be impossible to walk in.

Yesterday she left school early to come home and primp for the night. She had help with makeup, and ended up looking like she wasn’t wearing any, which to me, is perfect. Not wanting to blow a big wad of cash on her hair, she styled it herself and I think did a great job.

Halfway through the night, her date couldn’t deal with the noise and heat and had to be rescued by his parents, but the oglet soldiered on, and had a good time. At eleven I drove to pick her up, and made the hour-lonmg trip home with her in the passenger seat.

She is stunning in her red satin dress. In almost no time, exhausted from the long day, she falls asleep. Hands in her lap. A faint scent comes from the orchid on her wrist. The buckle of her mother’s London Fog raincoat, borrowed for the evening, taps against the door handle when we hit expansion strips in the road.

We have been listening to the radio but I turn it off. The rain mists the windshield and I occasionally have to run the wipers for a swipe or two.

I have always been acutely aware of the passage of time, all my life. Each moment fleeing like a bird leaving the hand of a magician, each anticipated day too soon present and too long past.

I reach over the armrest and touch her hand. She doesn’t stir, but instinctively grips back. I capture this moment, a perfect slice of perfect life, a dad and his beautiful, sleeping daughter on a highway at night in the rain. Other days will come and go, but I will always be able to walk down the corridors of my mind, pull the silver key from around my neck, and unlock the crystal cabinet that holds this memory and all it’s perfection, a memory so clear and strong that I expect that long after I am gone the memory will exist on it’s own.