Morning Limo

The sound of the tires on the road - the dull hum in the darkness  that makes the numb speechlessness of the passengers some how less obvious, more normal.  The driver speaks only once, to ask “which airline.”  I don’t hear the question, only the answer, which is the tell: “West Jet.”  The driver nods, as if to speak would be presumptuous or rude - like breaking into song or passing wind.  He doesn’t break into song or talk on the phone, and there is no radio communication. This is a cab, but an airport cab, dedicated to this somber shuttle.  The blinker breaks into the space with its steady click click click.  None of us respond. This is an acceptable outburst, a tidy sneeze in the stillness.  At some point, the clicking stops, fades out, and stillness returns.

We are going to Mexico. We are each stilled in our minds. He to the logistics. She to the unknown and each of the children to their private wonderings - the teenager to anxiety about what’s in her bag and how she will countenance 14 days! two weeks! endless days and nights! with her family. these people! The 11 year old to the sheer wonder and glory of travel. already thinking about the next trip. the next adventure. Off. Away. Shhh.