est. 1981

dreams

In Uncategorized on December 8, 2006 at 7:30 pm
we were in a car, on what felt like a road trip: Adam, Mom, Dad and I. Mom and I were in the backseat, Adam was riding shotgun, and Dad was driving (a staple in my youth, but now an absurd impossibility). we were driving to somewhere, and were late. i don’t know how late, but it was enough to cause Dad to stress in his typical fashion while behind the wheel (i’ve often joked that he is one of the few people i know who practices offensive driving).

he began to speed, even more so than normal, drawing the attention of a police cruiser. they persued, and instead of his typical swearing and relinquishing of power by pulling over, he accelerated. one cruiser became several as we began the ask what are you doing, why aren’t you pulling over?

we can make it, he said. we can beat them there. if i go fast enough we can win.

we hit a road block, came to a stop. waited.

we were ready for him to say that was enough, but then he turned around in his seat and threw the vehicle into reverse. i can still beat it, he said.

we screamed. Adam called him crazy. he lept from the car, rolling into the path of the cruisers from the road block following us, exiting with a bold decree that he wouldn’t be a part of this.

Mom and I stayed, pleading, yelling, demanding that Dad stop and give in to the police. Goddamnit, we can make it, was all he said.

i threatened him, ordering him to stop the car, brandishing my fist in direct opposition to my mother’s gentle but firm encouragement: i get to be the bad cop again.

Stop the fucking car, I said.

You know i can’t – we can make it, he said.

but it wasn’t Dad anymore. it was Adam. We can beat this, he said.

anger boiled out of me. i struck him in the arm. he struck me back. again and again, my brother and i, battling for this car with our mother inside. i struck him. he struck me.

and neither of us was in control. the car kept moving.

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