dump_truck tender_square i woke with a start at 4:30 in the morning, my mouth sugary. i sipped bedside still water and groped through a dream. i was in search of a dump truck. usually, there are signs on the rear that say "don't knock the back." this truck was different, it needed a nudge. my mom and i sat in the front bench of the cab. my dad and my ex-husband were behind us; my loud, practical, action-oriented side driving the machinery, with the quiet, considered, dreaming aspects taking a back seat. i let my mother take the steering wheel. she set the truck on auto-pilot and sidled up beside me, overwhelming my personal space and pinning me against the door. i looked through the glass and feared falling, behind hurt from such a height. i wasn't wearing a safety belt. i pushed the cylindrical metal lock down. through the windshield, i watched the road curve ahead. "how will you steer that?" i asked of my mother. startled, she moved to the wheel and put her hands on ten and two. i woke with a weight on my heart, a warning like a closed cipher. i couldn't sleep again. i sat up and stared at the wall, descending the staircase within, hoping to be met. 230525 what's it to you? who go blather from