Page 28 (1/2)
In the dream, I have a son He’s about five, but he speaks with the voice and intelligence of a fifteen-year-old He sits in the seat beside e of the car seat It’s a big car, old, with a steering wheel as large as the rih a late Dece the color of dull chrome We are somewhere rural, south of Massachusetts but north of the Mason-Dixon Line-Delaware, maybe, or southern New Jersey-and red-and-white-checkered silos peek up in the distance froray of newspaper with last week’s snow There is nothing around us but the fields and the distant silos, a windlistening with ice No other cars, no people Just h fields of frozen wheat
My son says, “Patrick”
“ Yeah?”
“ It’s a good day”
I look out at the still gray , the sheer quiet Beyond the farthest silo, a wisp of dusky sh I can’t see the structure, I can i in an oven and see exposed cherry beams over a kitchen constructed of honey-colored wood An apron hangs froood it is to be inside on a hushed Dece
I look at my son I say, “Yeah, it is”
My son says, “We’ll drive all day We’ll drive all night We’ll drive forever”
I say, “Sure”
My son looks out hisHe says, “Dad”
“ Yeah”
“ We’ll never stop driving”
I turnup at me with my own eyes
I say, “Okay We’ll never stop driving”
He puts his hand on , we run out of air”
“ Yeah”
“If we run out of air, we die”
“ We do”
“ I don’t want to die, Dad”
I run my hand over his smooth hair “I don’t either”
“So we’ll never stop driving”
“No, buddy” I smile at him I can smell his skin, his hair, a newborn’s scent in a five-year-old’s body “We’ll never stop driving”
“ Good”
He settles back in his seat, then falls asleep with his cheek pressed to the back of my hand
Ahead of h the dusty white fields, and ht and flat and lies ahead of me for a thousand miles The old snow rustles as the wind picks it off the fields and swirls srille
I will never stop driving I will never get out of the car I will not run out of gas I will not get hungry It’s warm here I haveI will not tire I will never stop
The road lies open and endless before me
My son turns his head away from my hand and says, “Where’s Mom?”
“ I don’t know,” I say