LIFE VIEWED FROM A CAR

As a 2-year old, thrown from the front passenger
seat of a 54 Nash (I know, explains a lot!);
going on the horsey-back road around the lake
while on vacation in Indiana so as
to lull me to sleep on a night when I was told
I had eaten too much cheese that caused me to have
nightmares; listing to the right in cousin Douglas’
station wagon on the way to Fourth Presbyterian
Church downtown during an ice storm when his car axle
broke; entertaining myself in the chilly, rainy
parking lot of my father’s work while he puts in
Saturday overtime; lying on the backseat
of a Volkswagen Beetle, watching Indiana
power pole shadows rhythmically pass over my face
on the way to Bass Lake; getting up early on
Saturday morning to ride with my father to
the Scottish shop in order to buy freshly baked
baps (rolls) to be slathered with butter and filled
with sliced bacon as soon as we got home; driving
in the foggy hills of Pennsylvania, to my
brother’s wake and funeral, on the night after
the call came to say he’d drowned at age 32;
sitting in the backseat of the limousine at
my brother’s funeral, staying with my mother who
is too sick to walk to the graveside; a year
later, being picked up from O’Hare in the
middle of rush hour after returning from Scotland
and being dropped off at home in order to change clothes
to get to my mother’s wake; stopping late at night to
get the early edition of the newspaper
to see what lottery number I drew in the
draft; held up by a train, waiting, hoping not to
be late for the National Teacher’s exam; returning
from Christmas shopping, writhing in pain from a
kidney stone attack as my nephew almost
imperceptibly reaches over to turn down the
car radio volume on REM singing
“Shiny Happy People;” hoping, at the real end, to
hear the soft refrain of "sleep in heavenly peace."