Car Cradle

“I’m awake but my body is tired.”  I would whine as my eyes readied themselves to fall into sand mans land while my face plummeted towards the car window.  I could easily find comfort with one face cheek resting against the warm pane, half on the glass, half on the lock button. The marks would go equally well with the seat belt that would engrave itself along my neck and ear.

I would edge myself into the gap between the seat and the door and flop my head forward when we stopped, and jerk back as we went.The drool of a deep sleep would leak its way into the pool of sweat forming in between my neck and my school shirt. The fake sheepskin car seats would itch on my elbows and the irritation of being consciously awake would tease my dreams.

The car was like a cradle. The car is still like a cradle, rocking me to sleep every time it slips into first. That’s all it takes. Sometimes when I lay awake at night I think to myself, I wonder if he would mind driving me around the block a couple times. But of course a wife must let her sleeping husband lie.

We use to drive my sister around the block when she was restless and whiny. My mum and I would hum our nursery rhyme of choice, Kooks by David Bowie. It worked. At the time I enjoyed the fact that my sister was to small to sing along and would therefore drift off to sleep allowing my mother and I to share the song together. After all it was originally my lullaby. Share and share alike my ass. She chose that song for me, she should have chosen a song for my sister. That’s fair.

Yes, I am an only child…was, was an only child!

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