Richard clenched his steering wheel, grinding his teeth at the ear-splitting noise that assaulted him, interrupting his news.
“Don’t touch that,” he said pointedly, quick to change it back, “Nobody wants to hear that racket.”
“It’s not racket, Dad, it’s music,” Daniel slunk down into his seat and crossed his arms, resting his foot on the glove compartment.
“And don’t put your feet up either,” he had had enough, “This is what I keep telling you, this so-called ‘music’ of yours has turned you into some delinquent! I don’t want you listening to it, you hear me?”
His son groaned, pushing back a piece of his unruly, light brown hair. It was her exact shade…
“Sure, whatever the dick-tator says,” the delinquent muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Richard cut a sharp, stern look his way.
“Why do we have to listen to the news anyway? Can’t we at least listen to some kind of music?” Daniel strangely missed the old-fashioned songs.
“No, we can’t,” he replied, with nothing else to add.
They sat in silence for a moment before Daniel reached over to change it again. Richard slapped his hand away in a huff. He tried to turn it back to his news, but it was broken.
The car radio whirred through different stations in a cacophony of sound. Robert banged it at once, until Doris Day stopped him.
“Whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see.”
“Que Sera, Sera?” Daniel asked.
“Your mom’s favorite…”
