Play it Softly
The back seat of the minivan folded into a small bed and my two younger brothers and I were sprawled out over it, shoulder to shoulder, no room to stretch or turn. We stared out the window into the night, at the palm trees in the center of the Holiday Inn parking lot.
“That’s why we bought the van, so we wouldn’t have to waste money on hotels every goddam night,” my father said to my mother.
“You’re tired. You’ve been driving all day. Try to get some sleep,” she said, helping him recline his seat. She was an expert at defusing his temper.
My mother opened the passenger door and stepped out into the balmy night. I could smell the humidity and I heard the song of a hundred bugs. I could hear the swooshing whisper of cars from the nearby highway through the song. My mother opened the sliding door and stepped back inside. She was barefoot and drinking a Diet Coke. She crouched over my youngest brother.
“Aren’t you tired, sweetie,” she asked, running her fingers through his sweaty hair.
He shook his head.
“It is warm back here, Henry,” she said to my father.
He didn’t answer.
“If you played the radio, it would help them sleep. Play it softly,” I said to my mother in a voice loud enough for my father to hear.
She shuffled her knees towards the steering wheel, picked up the keys from the cup holder and inserted one into the ignition. I stared at the dirty soles of my mother’s feet as she performed the task as quietly as she could.
“What the hell are you doing now?” my father shouted.
“I’m putting the radio on. It’ll help the children sleep.”
I stared at the trees and absorbed the music as my brothers dosed off and my father snored. The radio said the first two songs were from Emmylou Harris. The titles were “Heaven only Knows” and “Evangeline.” The third song was “Fool for Love” by Sandy Rogers. The fourth was “In the Pines” by Loretta Lynn.
My mother and I were the only ones awake. Her seat was reclined, but I could see her eyes were still opened. She was concentrating on the music. I stared at my mother’s eyes. She felt my stare. She looked up and smiled.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” she asked.
“I’m listening to the music,” I said.
“Me too,” she said.
“Hey, tomorrow we’re going to be inside Walt Disney World. Aren’t you excited?” she asked.
“That’s why I can’t sleep,” I said.
“I’ll lower the music a little. Try to get some sleep,” she whispered.
She closed her eyes. I reached out and held her hand as she drifted off.
© Chris Pellizzari
Chris Pellizzari is a poet from Illinois. His work has appeared in Hobart, Gone Lawn, Slipstream, SoFloPoJo, Not One of Us, Counterclock, BoomerLitMag, Ligeia, and many others. He is a member of The Society of Midland Authors.
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