I know I’m in trouble when you flex your fingers. I am only six but have already learned all your tells.
“Honey,” you say. “What happened back there?”
You’re using your two seconds from yelling voice again.
Turning from the car window, I pull the strings of my favorite hoodie until only my nose pokes out.
“There,” you say, your voice sharp. “You’re doing it again. Why? Why’d you do it? That was so rude.”
I yank the strings harder, my eyes pinching closed.
You’ve lectured me on manners a billion times. No rolling my eyes. No picking my nose. No tugging on the cords of my hoodie when I’ve tired of a conversation.
“You can’t do that,” you say. “That’s so impolite.”
I release the strings and turn back to the window. When I’m older, I’ll learn you’re a stellar driver. I won’t be nearly as skilled as you. My best friend will never come to a complete stop. My first boyfriend, when wrongly accusing me of cheating, will speed up and make every turn jarringly sharp. I won’t tell you about this until he suddenly breaks up with me, but when I do, you will cry, and I’ll cry with you.
“I was bored,” I tell you now. “Everything’s so boring.”
“Only boring people get bored,” you reply, as always.
I frown. I don’t like that. I don’t think I’m boring.
I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t know you found the supermarket cashier’s blabbering about her daughter-in-law’s dog’s eye problems so fascinating.
“You can’t do that,” you say. Then you pause for a while. “Maybe next time, I’ll leave you with the neighbor again.”
I start to cry. I hate the neighbor. The boys she brings over all smell like smoke.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I won’t do it next time. I’ll be good. I promise. Please, please, please, please.”
You start to say something, then just sigh instead.
“Okay,” you say.
The car gets quiet.
I close my eyes, finding the ambient noise soothing. You think I tend to fall asleep in the car because the outside sounds remind me of the womb. I’m not so sure about this; in addition to being unnaturally serious, I can also be an incredible skeptic.
You think this means I will grow up to be a lawyer, a scientist, a forensic accountant, but when I am older, I’ll instead develop a passion for music. The way my cello vibrates against my body reminds me of how it felt to ride in the car with you.
I fall asleep two minutes before you reach the building parking lot. You think about waking me up. Then you don’t. I keep my eyes closed as you lift me from my seat, my arms dangling loose like the strings of my hoodie. You hold me to your chest and carry me home, the beat of your heart my favorite lullaby.
INSTANT NOODLES 