The radio was barely receiving a signal. I was lost in thought about my family when the silence became apparent. Sitting at home by the desk was the iPod I meant to pack, and without the music’s distraction the darkness began creeping in. With nothing to illuminate beyond the edge of the road, the darkness was thick, the streetlights having long since died and wither away. I had to slow down because, beside no streetlights, there were no reflectors marking the lane. I wanted to call my parents to see how they were holding up but there was no signal. Just as well, it was so late.

After flying for several hours, and with the majority of the long drive behind, the fatigue was setting in. Having arrived on the last flight at 10:30 P.M. It was purely by chance that the car agency still had a big car available, they never seem to have the correct size, and a big car would be needed to shuttle various family members around. As I drove out of the agency’s parking lot and with the image of the airport getting smaller in the rear view mirror, the clock on the dash indicated it was almost 11:45 A.M. Now in the middle of who knows where, it was now almost 2:00 A.M. It would be good to see my parents again though it really had not been that long. I missed them. I wondered how their trip had been. There was no end to the dark and the headlights were only penetrating a small portion of what was out there.

My mind wondered to grandfather, my father’s farther, the family patriarch from the “old country.” His parents had been born here, but in mid-life he adapted an eccentricity that he did not know English though it had been his first language as a boy and he spoke it perfectly. Grandfather would mow the yard and cut my grandmother’s flowers and claim he did not see them because he did not have his glasses on. He found great pleasure in his mischief, his laugh would light up his face, and his eyes would take on a twinkle betraying a boyish rascal underneath. Wiping away the smile, he would rub his hands across his mouth like he was wiping away the remnants of a satisfying meal. His hands were big, supple and attached to well-defined forearms, which remained so until the end of his life. At his funeral my grandmother admitted she did not care about the flowers but, not wanting to take away my grandfather’s little pleasure, she let him think she did.