Drive Safe

Cruising down 40 to Powell Symphony Hall for the class field trip, I had three boys in the back seat, school lanyards laced around their necks in case they were lost and had to be returned. They were all pretty intent on informing me of the number on the speedometer as we coasted into traffic. Fortunately for myself – and to the chagrin of all of my siblings – I don’t speed. They rattled off the numbers in – almost – unison…

“55.”

“50.”

“No, it’s 49.”

“It’s 51, actually.”

“55.”

“60.”

“61!”

After a concert spanning some works inspired by Shakespeare that kept the boys pretty fascinated – and groaning during the wedding scene – we hit the road back. I occasionally listened in on their conversation, especially if my name happened to be mentioned.

“Mom, I just graffitied the back of the seat with an eraser.”

My suspicions were later confirmed that the graffiti in question read “butt”.

Or very incorrect information such as…

“I’m good at finding things because my mom used to be an archaeologist.”

All the while my car began to rattle increasingly and intermittently on the way back to school.

At the Big House, between school and school, Francis took my car out for a spin to check on the rattle. But not before he interrogated Carrie-Bri on the status of his lunch.

“It will involve bacon.”

“Yeah, but there’s going to be a hitch, Carrie, I know it. It’ll be piled in some funky kind of stew or something healthy.”

When Francis returned to bacon wrapped around asparagus, he had one question for me. “Do you have someone out to get you?”

“Don’t think so…”

“The lug nuts were loose on your front left wheel.”

Well … at least it didn’t come off while we were on the field trip.

Francis sat down to his bacon-asparagus at the kitchen table. A few minutes later…

“Carrie. I just can’t do this.”