keep on driving

I have been having a lot of dreams about my momma lately. I wish that I could say that she glided her way down from heaven to hug, love, and kiss on me. Oh no. In every dream, she is nagging me about one thing or another. I sometimes wonder if she is trying to send me some message; yet, it doesn't seem to penetrate the many thick layers of my hard a$$ head. I never remember why she's chiding me once I wake up. But even the cool side of the pillow can't temper how hot I get about it, mentally kicking rocks, 'bout to spit, "that woman sho' gets on my nerves!" That is, until my eyes start to focus and I realize that she isn't here anymore. I think about this heavily during July and August, being the months of her sunset and sunrise respectively. My cuz tries extra hard to encourage me around this time b/c I always seem to disappear from people. Which is even easier to do, b/c J is usually back home with my dad. I guess that I keep re-living certain things and wondering what I could've done differently during her last days and how my life would be different now.

Anyways, I was driving to work this morning and everything was according to program...left turn here....merge right here...look at this a$$hole...I'm gon' give him the HARD gas face for cutting me off...punk won't look over 'cuz he knows that he's wrong...some sick sense of "gas face victory"...pay toll...giggle at Ste.ve Har.vey...quick swab of lip gloss...UNTIL this voice says, "Hey, you remember when that girl on the bike bust yo' window out? Whatever happened to her?" I laughed so hard that I almost missed my last turn.

I believe that I was 16 or 17 y/o. One evening, I backed out of my driveway and headed for a friend's house. Right when I was about to exit my subdivision...at the corner of the exit street and the main street...I inch my car out to see the oncoming traffic to my left before I continue. It was clear. I start to head towards the intersection at the neutral ground, separating the oncoming traffic to my right, and then BAM! I was startled, to say the least. I stopped in the middle of the street. But my car now had a small dent close to the hood, a busted out window, and in front of me was a big broad laying on the ground, parallel to a semi-twisted bike with a dented basket.

I was confused b/c there was no way that I could've picked up that much speed from the time that I stopped to look for traffic. And it seemed that if someone rode their bike in front of my car, I would've seen them.

Again, I was 16 or 17 y/o. I hadn't long had my license but I had long cultured my vivid imagination. Whenever I told that story, it went something like..."this chick crashed into the side of my car, did 3-4 sommersaults in the air, landed on my windshield, paused for 3 seconds, did a Dukes of Haz.zard roll off my hood, tumbled like a bale of hay in the street, and then posed on her elbow." At that time, I was a receptionist at a police department. I remember sitting in a conference room with a couple of the police officers and my chief of police the following morning. I was so distraught that my momma forced me to tell them what happened...and that's what I told them.

After I finished, there was not one straight face in the room. I thought that I was in the twilight zone, b/c the last time that I checked, running over people was a serious offense. One of the sargeants explained to me that that wasn't what I saw, under controlled giggling. There was no police report...in fact, as I was helping this girl up, 2 patrol cars rolled by and never slowed to see what the hap was. My talking to these officers, who had long been family friends, was supposed to be for my benefit. For insurance purposes, they had taken pics of my car to show that the location of the dent was proof that it wasn't my fault. Even the girl's fam, at the hospital, was consoling me and saying that it wasn't my fault...as if to say that this broad does this sh*t on the regular. Oh yeah, she just loves to slam into windshields during her spare time. The girl only had minor scratches, but she seemed most concerned about the dented basket on her grandfather's bike.

I was done. I told my momma that I was never driving again. She kept telling me that I had to get back out there and that if I didn't do it soon, I'd be too paralyzed with fear to get behind the wheel again.

My response, "And your point is..."

Then one morning, later that week, I grabbed my purse and strutted out to the car. The passenger side, of course. I still refused to touch the wheel, so my momma would again be forced to drive Ms. Dizzy. She comes out to the car, fumbles with the door and then the next thing that I see is her grabbing and shaking her hand in pain. I'm thinking, "Oh Lawd, here we go...I don't care if she slammed all of her fingers in that door, I ain't driving. Hmph!" Momma was lookin' for some sort of emotion from me that morning and she got nothing. Finally, she said, "I cannot drive this morning...I just can't do it...so you're just gonna have to get over yourself and take us to work." I was PISSED! As many times as I have given people the gas face while in my car, I had never driven with so much attitude as I did that morning. I'm surprised that I didn't get a swift smack in the mouth with her good hand.

I was extra careful. I even let the car rock back when I stopped before I revved up again. I creeped down every street and slowed to a crawl at every turn. Finally, I made it to her office. Momma opened the door, got out of the car, and then bent down and said...

"You are so pitiful. By the way, I didn't really hurt my hand. I love you too, Bye."

And then she blew me a kiss, smiled real hard, and raced up the on-ramp with a quicker pace than normal in her high heels...as if she knew that I wanted to run her over. I had all kinds of names for my momma that morning. I WAS MAD!

But I was driving...and then I understood.

So as I was thinking about this, I wondered if my momma has been showing up in my dreams b/c she knew that I was getting weary...or that I had been spending too much time hanging on to the past. I won't try to draw any conclusions. I just know that when I wake up mad again, hopefully I'll remember her mischievious smile on that morning. And that it gives me, even when I feel as if I'm a kiss away from defeat, the fuel to keep on driving.