Jan 05 2009
uncle Rico
I dreamed that my father looked like Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite, and was driving me somewhere in his car. My grandma was in the passenger seat. My father was a terrible driver, speeding around sharp corners and accelerating when he should be slowing down, sort of devil-may-care about all of it, which my grandma thought was hilarious. I kept yelling at him to slow down, but he wouldn’t. At one point he went off the road entirely, careening over the rough dirt shoulder and flying over a ditch, just barely making the other side. I’d had enough. I asked him to pull over as soon as he could, I was getting out. “I’ll hitch-hike,” I said, furious. “Where will you sleep?” asked my grandma. “There are trees,” I said. “I can sleep anywhere!” We pulled into a small town and I unloaded my things from the trunk of his car. Two cardboard boxes, a comforter, a pillow. This shit would be hard to lug around, I thought, but whatever. “I’ve hitch-hiked with more!” was all I said to my father. They left me there, where packs of teenagers loitered outside the gas station. I don’t remember what happened next and eventually I woke up. Hurrah.
