Issue 16
Road
Susan B. Townsend
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The Road Trip
I loved going on road trips as a child. Mom and Dad in the front, Aunt
Charlotte and Uncle Jack in the back with me, nestled between them, smiling
with self-importance and chattering with anticipation. As the miles passed,
I tired of counting cars and horses or playing the alphabet game.
Invariably, someone would suggest that I close my eyes and have a little
sleep -- a kind way to tell me that my mouth, and their ears too, needed a
rest.
My head found its way to an accommodating lap, and I feigned sleep. "Put
your handkerchief under her mouth, Jack, in case she drools," Charlotte
would say. I didn't mind. My uncle's handkerchief smelled like he did -- of
soap, shaving cream and a mysterious smell that made me think of tractors,
cattle and earth.
I resisted sleep in order to hear the exciting and sometimes cryptic things
that grownups said when they thought children weren't listening. I remained
still and quiet under the touch of a gentle hand and savored the delicious
feeling of being the only child in a car full of people who loved me. I
don't recall hearing anything of importance. I must have fallen asleep.
~Susan B. Townsend
Originally from the west coast of Canada, Susan B. Townsend now lives on a
farm in southeastern Virginia with her husband, five children, and far too
many animals. Email.
© 2004 by Susan B. Townsend. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2004 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.