The Car

For Lynda Barry

I am jumping into the front seat from the back of the station wagon. The huge bench seats smell of leather and are warm to the touch. My ten year old self is content in the car. I don’t want to go inside. Not yet. Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers are singing a duet, “Islands in the Stream,” on the radio. My Mother is singing along and smiling. A temporary respite of calm and fun in the car.

I am drawn to the buttons on the radio. The “ka-thunk” sound with each change of the station. There are eight buttons in all. It was exciting. Not knowing what would come next. “Ka-thunk” and we have Air Supply. “Ka-thunk” and a country twang. “Ka-thunk” and older voices were solemnly discussing something I didn’t yet understand. “Ka-thunk” and we are back to Kenny and Dolly crooning about the loneliness of a stream.

We are still sitting and listening. I am happy in the cocoon of the car with the sense of adventure coming from the crackling radio. My mom is off somewhere still humming. Still happy. She is in a place where rent doesn’t need to be paid, boyfriends are faithful, and she is safe. The car is her cocoon as well. I want to stay as long as possible. I am counting on the next “ka-thunk” taking us somewhere exciting and far away. For the time being, I close my eyes, hum and smile.