Thursday, December 06, 2007

Quiet

It�s quiet in the car.

Too quiet.

Jo is in the back, a brand new count down to Christmas calendar on her lap. The dog ate the old one this morning�chewed right through the 11th, 18th, 22nd, 13th, and the 10th. The dog can�t count.

Thankfully, Trader Joe�s still had count down to Christmas calendars for sale. A dollar later, I fixed this problem, this potential disaster. Jo holds the calendar tight, on her lap, she looks out the window.

I�m up front. I watch for the stop light, willing it to change.

The passenger seat is empty. No Spencer. He�s home, in bed, under a quilt--sleeping. He threw up on the way home, right out the window and down the outside of the car. I pulled over as soon as it was safe. Jo screamed, �gross,� and I asked her to please be quiet. I got Spencer out of the car, had him stand on a bed of lava rocks and gave instructions: �butt back, feet back, vomit out there and don�t let it come back on you. We�re a long way from home.�

The lava rocks were covered with mostly carrots.

Jo says, �Spencer doesn�t do well with orange food.� A few weeks back, he choked on fish crackers. Jo calls them dangerous crackers now.

The man who owns the lava rocks came out, he offered a garbage bag for the mess of tissues I held. He said, �don�t worry about the lava rocks, the rain will wash it away.�

When Spencer was finally done purging orange food, he said, �I�m sorry, Mom.� That broke my heart. �Sorry for being sick?� I said. �No sorry for being sick, I�m sorry you are sick, Honey. You just get back in the car now and let me take you home.�

~

It rains hard enough to turn the road into a sheet of reflected headlights. It�s five p.m., everyone wants to go home. People honk their horns, impatient. Traffic jam.

Spencer sent Jo and I to the store for vanilla ice cream and orange juice. Jo doesn�t say the juice might be dangerous.

It�s never this quiet when Spencer is in the car. Spencer talks all the time, has so much to say or he plays music that makes us all dance. Spencer is loud.

But it�s quiet now as I wait for the light to change, again. I adjust the mirror to see my girl, still there, still holding the count down to Christmas calendar on her lap.

�I love you,� I say.
�I love you too,� she says.
She looks at me looking at her.
�I�m so happy you�re my girl,� I say.
�I�m so happy you�re my mom,� she says, grinning.
�I�m the luckiest Mom in the world,� I say.
�I�m the luckiest daughter in the world,� she says.

The light changes and we make it this time. I go back to driving, she goes back to looking out the window. The car is quiet again. What more is there to say?

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