I read somewhere - it was in a Brian Greene book, I think - that when you're on an airplane time actually travels faster. The faster you go, the slower your clock runs in comparison to those poor schmucks on the ground. You don't really notice this, of course, even as the cities and counties and states go whipping by below. If you jumped on a spaceship and flew away from the earth at lightspeed and kept going for a few years, you'd find that eons have passed upon your return home. That's not possible, of course, but we know it's true. Time dilation exists for those of us here on Earth, even if it is neglible.
*****
Dreamless, exhausted sleep. This is how I know that the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by the familiar jingle of Yubby's bell (Yubby is the security blanket), is real and not a product of my subconsciousness.
A tiny Cindy-Lou Who voice from the side of the bed. "Daddy. You need to scoot over."
"Uh, no thank you, Zoe. Go back to sleep, please. In your bed."
"No thank YOU, Daddy. I want to sleep in your bed. You need to scoot over, please." That last "please" spoken in the same icy disconnected tones that a DMV worker might use at the end of a long and taxing day. I comply.
*****
She flops down on the couch. I don't need to ask; I'd heard the conversation that had taken place a few minutes ago upstairs. A request, and a response: no, because it's almost dinner time.
Me: "Are you OK?"
Her: "I don't wanna talk about it, Daddy."
*****
The fastest plane ever built: the SR-71. It looks like this:
The SR-71's top speed was officially classified, but most people who know about such things believe that it topped out at just over Mach 3. That's three times the speed of sound, or roughly 2,300 miles per hour. The SR-71 was mostly made of titanium, with the panels and airframe fastened together loosly. This allowed the plane to actually stretch at high speeds, so that the vibrations and g-forces and friction wouldn't rip the thing apart. If you were to fly the SR-71 at top speed, nonstop, for a year, you'd have travelled 20,148,000 miles. Not quite the distance from the earth to sun, but still.
*****
The drive takes us past the local high school, where the girls' lacrosse team is running up and down the field, swinging their sticks like claymores, bellowing out orders and encouragement. She perks right up - she's seen her brother try his hand at that weird and exciting sport. "Can I do that?" I remember when he foot was no bigger than my thumb. "You bet. But you need to be older", I reply. In the rearview mirror, she's unconvinced.
*****
Last night was Halloween. We went trick-or-treating; she'd picked out the witch costume, but refused to wear the hat. The neighborhood was alive with candy-fueled shrieks; the kids running from house to house in a sugared frenzy. "You hold my hand", I say to her. "I'm going to hold Ava's hand", she replies, and she's gone.
*****
I don't think of it as November; there's morning fog, and sometimes it's enough to warrant a pair of sweatpants or even a beanie. But that usually burns off, leaving an amber sun that does battle with increasingly chilly ocean winds, and the results are schizophrenic but usually lovely. It makes for a good afternoon walk home from her preschool. Dia De Los Muertos. It's a long walk, mostly uphill, so she gets to ride in the stroller. She's probably too big. I probably don't care. "Dad!", she says. "I'm very excited that it's my birthday. I'm four now." She holds up three, then four fingers. "SR-71", I say. She laughs. "You're so silly, Daddy."
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