Velvet Verbosity

I pull up at the gas station, cell-phone glued to my ear.  My mother is on the other end and we are talking about “family”.  Not our family, the general family, the sense of family.  In front of me, as though a collective hologram of the idea of family, is a road family.  They stand around a motorcycle sporting a double-seater side car complete with cover.  They tow a trailer of belongings behind them.  The father wears his long black receding hair in a ponytail and a silver feather earring in his left ear.  It reminds that I’ve never known the guy’s rule for which side the earring goes on.  He also wears black jeans, a black leather jacket, black boots, and a black stoop in his shoulders.  Some weight has ridden him there.

Mother is wide and wise, sitting on the curb eating Triscuits and spray-can cheese.  She wears a blue bandana over her blond, braided hair.  Their two girls hover around the motorcycle, clad in overalls and sporting teeth too large for their faces.  The look is complimented by eyes magnified by glasses.

I wonder where they are going.