“Belly, your voice makes me want to run this car into the ocean.” He pretended to swerve right. Steven reached over to switch stations, and I slapped his hand away. Tom Petty was singing “Free Fallin’.” I sang right along with him. I found my favorite station, the one that played everything from pop to oldies to hip-hop.
I was as familiar with them as I was with the ones back home, and listening to Q94 made me just really know inside that I was there, at the beach. One of my favorite things about going to the beach was the radio stations. Steven ignored me, and so I started to fiddle with the radio. “That guy in a wheelchair just lapped us!” “Hey, look,” I said, pointing out the window. “People like you shouldn’t even be allowed to drive.” “If you ever get your license,” he scoffed. “And take your dirty feet off my dashboard.” “Go faster,” I urged Steven, poking him in the shoulder. Even when she slept, she looked alert, like at any second she could wake up and direct traffic. Meanwhile, my mother was passed out in the backseat. I sat next to him in the passenger seat with my feet up on the dashboard. My brother, Steven, drove slower than our Granna. We’d been driving for about seven thousand years.
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