The Crossing

I was falling asleep behind the wheel, and it felt good. The white noise hum of the engine. The gentle rocking. The warmth of midafternoon sun through the windshield. I could feel myself giving in.

Forbidden sleep is the best.

Then I heard a tap, tap, tap and slowly realized it was coming from my window. A wild-eyed man with red hair was peering in at me.

“Sorry to wake ya. Those are some nice rocks.”

I’ve fallen asleep on planes while idling on the runway before takeoff. Trains and buses have the same effect. Now I can add ferries to the list. It’s about an hour and ten minutes to cross from Rockland to North Haven, and I can’t read or write or even look at my phone without getting nauseous. A nap feels almost inevitable.

I rolled down the window. My new friend said he’d laid a few stones in his day and thought the rocks in the back of my truck would stack up into a nice wall.

I hope he’s right.