The Ride Home

    Image by Andy Magee

My throat tightens 

when I spot you waiting,

among the clump of students filled with

young, slouchy energy.

Then the mom-worry kicks in.

You look exhausted and rumpled,

smell faintly of stale beer and cigarette smoke.

I wonder how much sleep you've had this week,

this semester.

But finals are over and you’re mine again,

at least for the next three hours

while we drive home.

Your dark, 5-day growth

reminds me that you are a man now,

but still my baby - always my first baby.

You stretch and push the seat back to its furthest  position,

as we head west out of the city

listening to System of a Down.

It should be snowing, you say.

I agree as we look past the windshield wipers

into the grey December drizzle.

I turn up the defrost, as the atmosphere

inside the car is changed by the warm breath of two.

Then the special magic of a long car ride begins.

You shift in your seat, turn down the volume

and start talking…

And then

everything is all right.

This is prompted by The Mag creative writing group.  Check it out.