195. Desert heat

I am driving along the desert track - a short cut between the school and our house, a caravan of 4x4's raising clouds of dust as everyone drives home.

My phone rings and I pull to the side of the track to stop and take the call. 

'Yes. Speaking.' I say as I get out of the car to make sure I don't get disturbed. The kids are never silent for very long. 

...

'Right.'

...

'Of course, I understand.'

...

'Tomorrow. 8:00 AM. All right, that's perfect.'

I close the call and open the car door and ask my son to come outside. 

'Hurry up, please!' I say to him as he takes his time and refuses to notice the urgency in my voice.

So from angry I get to irate. He jumps down onto the rocky soil and I close the door back on the girls. I motion for him to come round to the back of the car. He stands against the dusty hatchback and looks up at me, bright blue eyes with something I should not see in such a young child's eyes, something between determination and burgeoning irreverence. The dust and sweat on his face, the soft round features of childhood and the mop of unruly blond hair barely soften this rebellious attitude.

'Do you know why I'm angry with you?'

He shakes his head gently, left to right and right to left and looks at me with candid incomprehension. 

'Just have a little think about last week ... where you and I went on Monday morning ...'

He has stopped shaking his head and he is now scratching his chin with his fingers, then his cheekbone. Trying to remember the events of the last few days requires immense concentration for a 7 year-old and he tries so hard he squints in the harsh sunshine. Suddenly he drops his hands and shakes his head again - from side to side.

I look up to the infinite blue skies and sigh inwardly. My son is simply infuriating. I count in my head. It's easy, all I have to do is count the huge vehicles that are bumping along the track behind my back. Some people count sheep to get to sleep, I count cars to keep calm.

By now we are both becoming a little hot and sweaty.  As the wind lifts the dust it sticks to our skin. This tiny boy, who knows only about chasing balls and riding, will not give in. I know he knows. And he knows I know. 

It is now unbearably hot. Which makes me even more furious and so I go into severe lecturing mode. The girls can see that mum is angry and pile up on the back seat to watch. The three of them gossiping no and giggling, wondering what is going on. 

But it is too hot. I have to stop the lecture. Anyway I'm chasing rainbows here.

'You get back in the car. We'll talk some more. Maybe by then you'll remember.'

He frowns, gets in, shouts at hiss who are on the back seat and I drive off. I drive fats and hard, trying to lift as much dust from the soil as I can, taking sharp turns and jolting the car over this hostile terrain, and feeling the bulky vehicle so much easier to handle than my 7 year-old child.