Riding in Silence

Powerlessness and silence go together.

–Margaret Atwood

Five hours into a road trip, I pull over at a gas station
somewhere in Iowa. As I fill up the car, my son stirs awake
in the passenger seat and lumbers inside, looking for
caffeine and convenience calories. With the tank full, I sprint
to the restroom, passing my son and handing him the keys.

Tag. Your turn behind the wheel. 

He and I are on our way to Santa Fe—a two-day drive
covering 19 hours. Long ago, when my sons were little…
I drove us during every road trip, handling entire journeys 
by myself. Now, my boys are grown men who can
be trusted to take a turn at the wheel.

Back from the men’s room, I sit in the passenger seat.
My son enters directions into his phone and queues up
a podcast. Underneath his crewcut and fresh mustache,
I still see the boy he used to be, but time has hardened him. 

At 22, he’s built like Farnese Hercules—lifting weights
and devouring protein to mold his body into taut marble. 
Three years as a soldier, he now keeps a gun tucked into 
his waistband. A lethal man, yet still gentle with cats and 
his elderly grandmother, who he visits weekly.

As he drives, I close my eyes and try not to dwell on his
impending 11-month deployment—imagining him and
the other burning men in his company stationed on a
base in the distant Kuwaiti desert, waiting for their orders.
Time mixing faint dread with the grit of impatience. 

Will my son scan for hostiles from a helicopter cabin as it
dashes over the Badiya barren; patrol the border east of
Azraq, listening for the hum of drones over the bleat of
goats; or stand guard with his SAW¹ in hand, indifferent
to the smell of fires from settlers razing olive groves? 

There is nothing he or I can do: orders are orders. I have no
control over an adult’s decisions, the whims of the military,
or the mercurial winds of global politics. Words fail my full
feelings, and I dare not vocalize my fears because I might
give them final shape. Thus, the only safe choice is silence. 

For some time, nothing is said during the drive, just the
murmur of a podcast. I try to nap, trusting that for now 
my son’s hands, young yet firm, are behind the wheel, and
the road is still beneath us—even if it leads in directions… 
I can’t always follow.

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¹ SAW (Squad Automatic Weapon), a light machine gun

Photo by Mark Neal on Unsplash