Gyroscope Review 15-3 | Page 61

Road Trip by Jeff Santosuosso It’s a hard drive in the summer, blind lane drops, fourteen-wheelers bearing down, suicidal commuters trying to cut 90 minutes to 80, and she did it in the glare of the snow, lost sight lines over the filthy brown banks, black ice, slicks, and potholes. It’s a hard visit for an occasion, cramped house with no driveway, tiny bathroom with pre-war tile, rush and rumble of the backyard trolley line, and she did it for the funeral, near strangers, the small talk, handshakes, hushed voices, and casseroles. It’s a hard drive with her husband, following too closely, adjusting the seat and mirrors, cell phone distractions, and she did alone his inflexible boss, year-end crunch time. When she returned a week later, he took her bag from her shoulder, the others from the trunk. Her tea was already steeping, the couch laid out in blankets, her slippers just beneath. He joined her there moments later as she formed into his chest, closed her eyes and sighed. He steadied and soothed her shoulders, his breathing rhythmic as they reclined in silence, grieving. Gyroscope Review 5! 2