"but how can you tell?" you persisted. "i can count by fours to this."

"no." i didn't know how to explain it. "don't you hear the strong beats? the downbeat, the first note of every measure, where the beat is divided evenly. it's only every three."

ONE two three ONE two three ONE two three ONE two three.

"it's triple meter. yeah? do you hear it?"

in the frustration on your face and through the counting on your breath was a moment where we should have ended up, how we should be now.

you shook your head with a tilt that means forget it [even now i know that, somehow?] and i can remember the way the winter trees leaned over the road, blending into the gray ceiling and the muddy water out my window.

there was something about the way i wanted to teach you things, but i always fumbled further conversation.

so the scene unpauses in my memory and i think that might be the last time we drove anywhere together.