Listen to the Music

Mornings have always been hard for me. You could have asked my grandmother that. Everyone else in my family knows it. Puffy face. Congested head. Cranky demeanor. A face that won't smile...

This morning, as we drove northward on our daily commute, sipping half-priced coffee we picked up at the corner gas station, things were like that. Puffy face. Congested head. And the traffic was slower than usual.

Somewhere between the on-ramp and the river, Trudy reached over and turned on the radio. B-leep! It was at that point that the morning changed.

In bumper to bumper traffic with kattywompus lane changing all around, we bumped and boogied, waving our hands in the air, our bodies rocking back and forth. It made the woman behind us smile. It made me smile.

When Ben was very young and too wound up to go to bed, I would sing him a song. In minutes he'd be lying glassy-eyed and still. It was like that this morning, only the other way around. Whereas I had been numb, the music woke me.

Then north of town came the guitars. Strumming in unison. Chords and synchrony burned into my brain from many years ago.

I sat glassy-eyed and still.

The car climbed up the ramp of an overpass. The blue sky was partly obscured by a passing cloud. And the sound of the strumming guitars filled the car and filled my head and brought tears to my eyes.

I had to turn my head and look away from Trudy. But I know she knew.

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