The Best Kind of Superhero
I woke up just as we got off the highway at our exit. I peered out the window at the church I never knew the name of, at the familiar stoplights and street signs, marveling that no matter how deeply asleep I am, I always manage to wake up at exactly this point. The silent bends in the road, the dark passing landscape, gently rock me out of sleep. There’s something about home, I think, that transcends slumber, that penetrates the soul even when it is unconscious.
The rhythmic snoring from the back seat was mesmerizing, calming. My parents were sitting in silence. The moment was so lovely that I laid my head back down, feigning sleep, so that it would continue for just a bit longer – until we turned onto Bartlett Street and the potholes jostled the car, waking my brother and my sister too.
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