The road sings a lullaby to me; the hiss of the wind rushing by harmonises with the heavy rumble of the engine and the wheels against the tarmac.
The world outside has drawn in with the darkness. Beyond our comfortable metal cocoon there’s just a pool of light, with the ghosts of trees flashing by.
My sisters are asleep beside me. In the front, my mother has closed the map book and is pretending to sleep so she doesn’t have to remind dad to watch his speed. There’s just me and my dad, awake and watching the phantom trees go by.
I want to stay awake but the motorway sings to me until my eyes droop and my head nods. As I fall asleep I feel safe and secure, warm within our little pool of light in the dark.
Perhaps I’ll wake up when we get near home, when the wheels change to a different note as we leave the fast roads; perhaps I’ll stir when my father carries me from the car. Most likely, I’ll sleep until the morning and wake up in my own bed, as if I didn’t really drift off to the strains of the motorway lullaby.
© Kari Fay