Memories of Before

It’s late. We’re on our way back from Grandma’s house in Old Town. I called dibs on the coveted back seat first and for once, my sisters relented (rather than ganging up on me as they tended to do). The back seat means I can lie down horizontally across the seats and squint to read a book by the dim street lamps on the way home. The lap of luxury.

It’s raining a bit. I like how smooth and sonorous the roads are as the rhythm of the car lulls me.

I used to make a game of carefully choosing two raindrops that were similar in size and about to roll down the window. I’d silently bet on which one would race to the bottom first, swallowing other droplets in its path before melting into the rubber at the bottom of the window.

I close my eyes and listen to the unmistakable sound of cars driving in the opposite direction on warm, wet pavement.

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Reality Trekk Trauma Recovery Book Club

All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir-Manifesto – George M Johnson

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