The radio

She used to blast Jackson Browne on the 4 watt speakers in the car we had to use a seatbelt to hold the door closed.  In her own world, I don't know what or who she was thinking about; but, I remember more words to Running on Empty than I do to Mary had a Little Lamb.

So at the last stop light before Home Depot, when we were flipping through the radio, my mother jumped in the car with us.  It's funny how the simple melody of a song I haven't heard since I could drive so far away could make me a confused kid again.  My mother, the biggest mystery in my life.  I could only listen for a verse or two.  By the time the chorus had repeated twice, I could feel the quiet panic setting in.  Pulling into the parking lot, my hands were shaking.  What was wrong on those days?  Why was she always so.... not just sad or angry or melancholy, but all of those things at once?

The girls in my car might have wondered the same thing sometimes.  What songs will they remember me disappearing into?  Which station will leave them unsteady on a Saturday afternoon errand run?  Will they also remember the mornings we blasted Beastie Boys and car danced through the drop-off line at school?  Will they forget how we always, always, always throw our hands in the air when the song demands it?  And, will we ever learn the words to every Macklemore song?

All I know for sure is that my mother had a soundtrack that only she could illustrate.

I couldn't tell you if it was heartbreaking or healing for her on those car rides.  I can only say that, last Saturday afternoon, she sat beside me in a life she's never seen.  Still as lost as she ever was.  And, amid my own quiet happiness, I was a broken little kid again.  This time, though, I could just change the station.