Driving Rachael to school this morning feeling the transmission go thump every time the gears shift.
Dad, she says isn't it awful about Karla's mom? ( Karla's mom died after a school year long bout with
cancer. The entire class was following the progress, she lost the fight yesterday.)
Yes, I say, it's awful.
Banish thoughts of my own demise...I'm 64 like in the Beatles song, 'Will you still love me...'
Deadman's curve we call it, though it was a woman who crashed taking this turn too fast on a Honda bike. Elle found her first but she was beyond a nurse.
She hit a cement truck, took her head off. The truck flipped over trying to avoid the crash and the driver was
almost killed. The mixer lay on it's side for weeks, tank full of concrete, it took a heavy crane to move it.
I'm not fond of this school she's in now but living out here, it's what you have.
A poor country school, no music, no art, but a whole lot of social, hippocritical, religious bullshit. Next year
she'll be in high school and we'll have an apartment in the city. A break from Green Acres will do us all some good.
Sitting in the traffic line, waiting, kids disembarking one load at a time. I give her lunch money for corn dogs,
pizza, whatever awful fodder they slap on those metal school/prison trays and wave goodbye, she's too big
to kiss. I watch her disappear inside, remembering my own 7th grade at Rogers School in Rochester.
I played hookey a lot that year. I discovered girls and masturbation.
I flew on a Lockheed Constellation to Atlanta by myself that year. I wanted to be a pilot.
I head home through morning fog to the farm, the horses, the pigs, the shimmering birds and all the many feathered,furry creatures who don't give a damn about my school days reveries or my time at the wailing wall,
they only crave the manna from our offering hands.
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