Not long after the conversation that must not be spoke of my mother slid in a compact disc that read smooth jazz; this is the music that always seemed lull one into a false sense of security about my parents. The perfect boring music. The disc that was tossed aside was my dad’s Bossa Nova compilation.
And like clockwork I find myself falling asleep.
I’m standing on the observation deck of the Empire State Building without knowledge of how I’ve got here. Everything and everyone pales in comparison to where I stand. The sun bounces from the surfaces of windows and glass buildings each beam landing squarely (beamly?) in my eyes. I can’t see a thing and to top it off sweat is running in my eyes. I can’t wipe my eyes because I don’t have any arms. My eyes burn – it’s so hot; the sun beams feel like a laser – and I’m pretty sure I’m suffocating. I hear my father whisper from somewhere close though I can’t hear the words. The blood pounding in my ears is too loud.
I wake up screaming in the back seat of my parents car. In the back seat of the car I am sprawled out, seatbelt choking me. When I sit up my arms fall loosely at my side. They are numb from sleeping on them.
And I’m alone in the car.