Stephen Dixon - Interstate

Few minutes later he yawns so big a yawn that his eyes squeeze tight and tears come and he tries opening them but for a couple of seconds can’t and he thinks Jesus, what is he, that tired? doesn’t want to stop but might have to — concentrate, concentrate, and while he’s staring front, head pitched a little over the wheel, trying to keep his eyes from closing like that again, he yawns, tries to stop it and is suddenly out, he thinks after he snaps awake, he’s been out, unconscious, but for how long? seconds, even a half minute, a minute, just sitting here sleeping but holding the wheel straight where it didn’t leave the lane. Checks and no cars around so nothing much would have happened if he did go into one of the next lanes and then awakened. But never happened, this. Or happened once, on a trip with his wife before she was his wife and they had kids, eleven hours on the road and he’d driven most of them and forty or so miles from the bungalow on a private cove they’d rented for a month…anyway, stop at the next rest stop. And that was eleven hours, since early morning, so they probably didn’t have enough sleep night before and had tired themselves out a little packing and loading for the trip and cleaning the apartment for the couple subletting it for the month, trying to make it in one day to avoid the costs of an overnight stay and to take full advantage of the cottage’s thirty-one-day lease. That’s right, think like that, of anything to stay awake, or stop on the shoulder to rest his eyes a few minutes, nap for ten, that’d refresh him, and kids won’t mind that much. But you never know. He sometimes gets scared like this. Car coming along could go off the road right into them, thinking it was another lane. Not that but a car in the slow lane might come too close or some thugs might stop to rob him, guys like those guys in the car before. They see a man and his kids: easy target, back up on the shoulder, “Say, you don’t have a jack we can use, for we think we have a flat,” bam, out comes the gun. Sometimes he wishes he kept a weapon in the car to protect himself, like mace. But then the kids could get hold of it accidentally or out of curiosity and then what? That could happen, much as he might warn them. So a baseball bat. Anyway, still thinking, and feeling more alert. Radio, and turns it on. He’ll take any show this time, religious, ridiculous call-in, but can’t pick up anything but two stations with the same kind of thumping music that makes him irritable it’s so ugly, and it’ll wake Julie, so turns it off. Talk. Whispers “Margo?” but she doesn’t answer. “Margo? Margo?” Quickly turns around and sees they’re both asleep. Just a glimpse of them, but little angels; at what age does that look stop? Next rest area shouldn’t be that far off, five, ten miles — forgets when he saw the last sign for one and how many miles it said next area was, but he’s definitely going to stop, piss, wash his face, have two coffees or just a big large one, though he’s not yawning anymore so maybe the crisis is over, though still stop.

Little later Margo says “Julie’s up,” and he says “Oh, you’re awake,” and she says “I wasn’t sleeping,” and he says “You weren’t? What is it with you two where you don’t like to admit it? Okay,” and she says “Can I speak about something serious now without you getting angry like you can?” and he says “Why would I with just your asking me something — what kind of guy you think I am?” and she says “You have before when I asked you to do something you didn’t want to,” and he says “What is it you want? I promise I’m turning over a new leaf, no more anger or at least not as much — control, control and self-command is the word, or words, and besides, just ask it,” and she says “What time is it?” and he says “That’s what you were afraid to ask?” and she says “No, don’t be silly,” and he says “You can read the time — what time is it?” and she says “Do you think, you don’t have to if you don’t want, we can get home in time to drop me off first at Lillian’s ice-skating party?” and he says “That’s what you thought I’d get angry about? Anyway, it’s already started — I told you this morning I didn’t think you’d be able to go when I saw how late we were getting out,” and she says “But I’ve been thinking about it now and I don’t want to miss it,” and he says “We don’t even have a present,” and she says “Mommy has a whole bunch home for emergencies, I can tell her I’ll give it in school tomorrow,” and he says “That’d work but to get there we’d have to really rush and I don’t want to, right now what I’m doing’s a safe speed and just enough over the maximum, and even if we rushed, really broke the speed laws and everything, you’d barely make the last half hour of it,” and she says “I’ve been to two at that rink and they always went on a half hour to an hour more,” and Julie says “That’s not fair if she goes,” and he says “I don’t want to count on the party going over — it’s just too much out of the way, twenty minutes, then twenty minutes plus twenty in coming back to get you and returning home, and I’m tired, sweetie — did you see me yawning before?” and she says no and he says “You said you were awake so I thought you might have, but I did, I’m so tired I don’t think I should even be driving now — I want to stop for coffee and rest my eyes and mind a little from this driving and that’ll add another half hour to the trip, which’ll mean you’ll get to the party, if we make great time, exactly when it’s scheduled to stop,” and she says “I still want to try,” and he says “You should’ve thought of that this morning when you dillydallied in the john and I was pushing us to get ready so we could go, and also when we stopped for your tacos,” and she says “That’s not fair, we stopped for more — your men’s room, and you had a biscuit and coffee and the tomatoes from Julie’s hamburger,” and Julie says “I didn’t want them but Daddy told me to put them on so he could have them,” and he says “Listen, if we make exceptional time till the Beltway and if on the Beltway I see there’s no heavy traffic or there’s a way where I can avoid it and I think we can get to the party for at the very least, half an hour, then okay, but less than that it’s not worth it, don’t you agree?” and she says “No but okay,” and he says “ Okay ?” and she says “Yes, what else can I say?” and he says “Good, for then I’ll do my best to get you there, I swear,” and speeds up a little and she says “Like I said, you’re very nice and sometimes easy to talk to. I didn’t say the last thing, but easier than Mommy most times, and you make up with me faster,” and he says “Listen, I’ll have no comparative parent ratings please,” and she says “What’s those?” and he says “I said it wrong; I meant, your mother’s a much better parent than I, doesn’t get hotheaded or temper-tantrummy the way I do, she never really rants or becomes cross, and if I did grab your arms in a pinching sort of way as you said — left marks there, squeezed the skin too hard, but no punches; that I know I’ve never done — well, you know she’s never acted like that, right?” and she says “That’s right, not even a slap, which you once said you did,” and he says “So there. She’s as easy if not easier to talk to than I, more understanding and a lot quicker to forgive and let bygones be and so on and more patient and sensible about what might be bothering you; while my first reaction, if it’s not your health or safety that’s at stake, is to joke about it, but overall we’re both okay, would you agree?” and “You too, Julie — that we’re not total boobs and floperoos as parents or even near to that?” and Margo says “She’s shaking yes and I can say I shake along with that too,” and he says “Well, good.”