Ride

I can’t believe my eyes.
The road ahead slopes steeply downward. Clearly gravity will pull us off of this outrageous road. I feel frightened but have no hope of avoiding the cataclysm.
I am in the backseat with my hazy sibling and other peers who may or may not really fit into this cab. They seem to fade out into nothing in order to defy spatial restrictions.
This is my father’s pick up truck. The detail to this aspect is very real.
I can feel the coarse tan upholstery under hand as I grip the seats in front of me to brace myself. My father is the driver.
He is in a good mood recognizable from my childhood; full of himself, opportunities knocking and everything is possible.
His passengers are scared shitless by his recklessness and he’s enjoying it.
My mother is riding shot gun, and between my parents a family friend, Maureen.
She crawls down to the floor and lays there.
We’re on our way . Amazingly we remain on the road.