Bed time story

I am driving home following the river on 99E its one in the morning its dark and I've only seen one other car my destination is clothe less in my bed but there are several worlds to move through before I reach it yet I've left the woods as lights of Canby sway in time steady with all things of the information age though for all their inanimate nature they still fall short lightbulbs someday die and the little hairs inside the glass bulb sway around without a beat at all but now the 7-11 shines like a beacon like a lighthouse like a reminder to turn left and so I do a girl sitting outside looks up takes a drag off her virginia slim she knows she remembers but the visions gone again my car will forever slide along I think I forget all the money it takes to move it places movement isn't science it is economics until I roll up the hill past the herb farm and my old summer job everyone always wanted the dill in great big bushels of yellow flowers too beautiful to smell like pickles I would say no laughs and I laugh now at the absurdity of things even though I'm so wrapped up in the lives of my friends do they even know because when do I admit it in the end its selfish wheres my portion of blame wheres my honesty bravery I could of lost it here under the hazelnut trees along with that journal I wrote in for two years about them him I which now is just mulch how environmentally friendly of me but don't tell my dad he will think I'm swinging far too left when in truth I'm just swinging in the spirit of reminiscing and childhood remember back when you could ask questions and the answers weren't always masquerading worries but the stars aren't worried look up there in the same place you left them three years ago look back down ever since I was sixteen I've driven this road at night and believed this part would last forever this part with the hazelnut orchard and pavement and stars but it always ends by the time I reach Lone Elder Store "little tijuana" we named it that for the way they keep their cigars on the outside of register within the subtle reach of any tall third grader and then I am pulling into our long driveway where I learned to drive stick and love and leave I guess its not that much of a stretch I turn the keys and grab my coat out of the passenger seat walking around to the back door the light clicks on but sight stretches only to where the ivy starts and then continually beats itself against the wall of dark that is the little valley and creek where anything everything is hiding all nature on the cusp of horrific glory and simple authority but just in time I'm through the door through the kitchen through the hallway to my room and my bed smells like nothing except clean what a comfort I'm tired of everything having to smell I don't care about lemon fresh and ocean breeze and then

the silence hangs

until the rain starts again pushy and haphazard not comforting at all.