Van Morrison’s “Caravan” plays in the car while we drive. The song is so good that nothing can possibly go wrong. Mind explodes fireworks, body finds groove, head nods. Why does no one ever talk about this song? A song I doubted. Almost moved on from. Sheep baa outside the window. We are passing farms and greener pastures than before. Our luggage is humble, the car is outdated, but the speakers are not static and that is worth its weight in gold. Coins jostle in the ashtray as turn off the interstate and find speed bumps. We sail through them, despite the physical repercussions. The music so loud now, it almost drowns out the sirens; There is a caravan of police cars behind us, the likes of which OJ Simpson had never seen. But their intent is clear. They mean to capture and pin us down so that this ends on their terms with us surround and guns drawn. I can’t let it end that way, no matter how many monsters come and haunt my sleep. I am flooring the gas pedal now.
