Tidal Basin Review, Summer 2010

―Why are you driving so fast, Dad?‖ ―I‘m on a tight schedule today, son,‖ he replied while moving the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. ―We‘ll slow down soon.‖ I didn‘t understand what that meant because he continued shooting past street after street, dodging oncoming cars like we were in a video game, running yellow lights with such momentum that they were turning orange; he was honking, and allowing the toothpick to dangle from his bottom lip the entire time. ―This isn‘t like our other rides,‖ I said. ―It will be, son. It will be.‖ He sat upright in the seat. ―I just have to take care of a few things.‖ He lifted his hand and placed it on my legs; it covered both knees completely.

The ride got smoother as we approached the busier streets. He eased from the gas and the car began coasting. That‘s when I realized why my father adored his Lincoln. It felt as though we were cruising Lake Michigan in an extended sail boat. Our faces were both forward although I couldn‘t see clearly over the front dash. Most of the time I‘d stare into the heat vent which was broken in certain points and listen to the rhythm of the car‘s engine, or listen to the green blinking turn signals clicking when they actually worked. ―Where are we going?‖ I asked.

He didn‘t respond.

The car then made a sharp left turn and over the panel of the passenger window, which was layered in maroon synthetic leather with numerous cuts and rips, I witnessed the car-filled parking lot of a department store. ―Wait here, Son,‖ he said as he reached over and re-fastened my belt. ―I‘ll be right back.‖ ―Can I go with you?‖ ―No.‖ Father opened his palm toward me, showing me each of his five fingers. ―I need to get in there and come out. Sit tight and watch your father‘s car while he‘s in the store, son.‖ He looked at me directly when he spoke.

DRAIN ∫ 70