Whistle
I heard a whistle in the background of one of my favorite songs while I was driving. I’ve never heard it before, so I wondered, if finally feeling better after a two week battle with bronchitis led to some new insights.
But the whistle it sounded like it was in the car. It sounded like it was in the backseat behind me. But that couldn’t be right. Because no one was in the car with me. Not only do I never drive with other people, but after taking a sick day, I hadn’t seen another person in 24 hours.
It wasn’t until weeks later that the whistle returned. This time without music to accompany it.
The whistle would only be in my car. Only ever coming from the backseat— from the position in the middle— where the smallest kid has to sit during packed rides. The seat that’s most visible in a mirror. Nothing to see. Only a jaunty tune and then silence. Only questions that followed.
It would come on quick, but with an adjusted volume so you wouldn’t notice it wasn’t your own whistle until halfway through. Wonder if that was to keep me from driving off the road.
There’s a magic to that sort of natural appearance— one that frightened me more than the disappearance.