AM 1100 by Ellie Rafoth
The deep gravelly voice of Mike Trivisonno
Greets me as I get into the car.
Static overtakes him as he bounces in and out
Talking about LeBron leaving and the latest accident on 271.
My chauffer and I don't talk while I look out the window.
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As I reach to change the station to FM's Hot 101,
Our sleepy silence is broken.
My father says, "I'm listening to that, Champ".
So I cross my sixth grade arms and sulk back into the leather
Listening to my father's radio friend.
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His hushed mumbles fill the car
As my father rests one hand on the wheel,
Another steadying a mug of black coffee.
Every once in awhile he chuckles at one of the jokes,
His icy blue eyes gleaming in the morning sun.
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For years, they've talked about the disappointment
Of Cleveland sports, the recession and
Whatever comes to Triv's mind on our daily commute.
To him, it is his daily connection to the city he loves.
To a sleepy eyed sixth grader,
It's a hinderance to the latest Top 40.
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Now, when I assume the passenger seat,
He turns down his opinionated friend
So we can catch up while I'm in town.
We talk about applying for internships,
Taking the LSAT and my new apartment on Cedar.
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If we have nothing to say,
He turns the channel to what he thinks I listen to.
Little does he know, the dial in my car
Is set to AM 1100
-Ellie Rafoth