Youngest and I are driving to pick up take-out. He’s mad at me because I forced him to come. I didn’t want to have to park. He will run in and get the food while I idle illegally outside La Salsa. He deliberately picks a song on the iPod connected to the radio that he knows I will hate. Head-banging, heavy-metal rock. I groan. He looks over at me slyly. I grab the iPod and he grabs it back.
“That’s so juvenile,” I say.
“So what?” he replies, “I am a juvenile. If I went to jail, I’d go to juvie.”
He stares at me. What’s my excuse? I shrug.
What can I say? Every now and then, time collapses right out from under you.