Saturday Morning
the highway.
The wind, country music, and his awful singing voice had my ears working in overdrive. I had my eyes closed, a headache coming on. I wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol last night or his singing. "Shit, I can't carry a tune in a five gallon bucket," he cursed, spitting into a McDonald's cup.
I laughed and agreed with him, but I couldn't sing either. I didn't mind it, though, just like he didn't mind my fuzzy hair and make-up free face. I opened my eyes and looked over at him. He was drumming his hand on the door of his truck, only one hand on the steering wheel. Bright blues straight ahead, singing under his breath, he reached up to adjust his baseball cap. He'd finally managed to steal it back from me after I'd worn it all night.
I always hated silence with people. In my mind I would have "conversation cards" of topics to bring up to keep the conversation from dying or being awkward. I didn't mind it with him, though, he was comfortable. Familiar. Like your favorite pair of jeans that you'd wear until they ripped.
He reached to turn the radio down until a familiar tune started blaring through the speakers. Ready to Run by the Dixie Chicks. "I love this song!" we exclaimed in sync, instantly singing along. I would have dropped dead before I sang in front of anyone. He was different though.
We laughed at how badly we butchered the song and once it was over, we fell into silence again. Silent Saturday mornings with him were just fine by me, I decided, and I closed my eyes again, leaning my head against the head rest and smiled as you whistled and sang all the way down the highway.
I laughed and agreed with him, but I couldn't sing either. I didn't mind it, though, just like he didn't mind my fuzzy hair and make-up free face. I opened my eyes and looked over at him. He was drumming his hand on the door of his truck, only one hand on the steering wheel. Bright blues straight ahead, singing under his breath, he reached up to adjust his baseball cap. He'd finally managed to steal it back from me after I'd worn it all night.
I always hated silence with people. In my mind I would have "conversation cards" of topics to bring up to keep the conversation from dying or being awkward. I didn't mind it with him, though, he was comfortable. Familiar. Like your favorite pair of jeans that you'd wear until they ripped.
He reached to turn the radio down until a familiar tune started blaring through the speakers. Ready to Run by the Dixie Chicks. "I love this song!" we exclaimed in sync, instantly singing along. I would have dropped dead before I sang in front of anyone. He was different though.
We laughed at how badly we butchered the song and once it was over, we fell into silence again. Silent Saturday mornings with him were just fine by me, I decided, and I closed my eyes again, leaning my head against the head rest and smiled as you whistled and sang all the way down the highway.