Nocturnal Addiction

The following is a memory from a few years ago that I remember vividly -- it was probably the last time I was truly at peace.
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Humidity from the summer rainstorm that just ended is restraining the engine, but I don’t mind it that much.  To compensate, I shift down into second gear as I enter the onramp.  The torque pulls my head back and I feel a smile grow on my face – insomnia isn’t so unbearable with moments like this at 4am.

Third gear.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Sixth.

The driver’s side window is halfway open, creating a makeshift wind tunnel that carries the smell of moisture past my face.  I reach for both of the window controls and push down, allowing the air to flood in.  The sound it creates muffles the radio and all I can hear from it is the faint wandering guitar solo in Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb”.  I reach into my pocket, pull out a cigarette and light it to the sound of David Gilmour’s distorted Stratocaster.  I turn the volume up.

The freeway leans into a banking left turn while it shepherds me beneath an overpass.  As I feel gravity shift from the angle of the road, I accelerate and imagine myself on a race track.  Ahead, the orange glow of the streetlights reflect on the soaked freeway, and when I escape the confining darkness of the road passing overhead, I feel freed by them illuminating my surroundings  and leading me onward.  The city’s skyline is still hazy from the storm.  No single light source is defined, just a landscape bright colors blending into one other.  I find myself slowing down so I can take in the sight for a little longer.  It almost looks unreal.

I reach the bridge and the trees lining the road disappear, revealing a panoramic view of my home.  On my left are storage depots and industrial facilities, on my right is the lake, ahead of me is the city.  I’m closer now and the cluster of buildings no longer resembles a watercolor painting.  It’s become a forest of iron, concrete and glass that slowly gets larger, growing beyond the frame of my windshield. I’m the only one navigating this river of asphalt, so all of my attention is captured by the size and beauty of the city’s presence… and it overwhelms me.  I pull onto the eastbound ramp, toward the lake.

No sound is coming from the radio now, I've turned it off.  The want to use music as ambient noise has passed, I’m now content with the sound of my tires rolling on the wet pavement.  The stoplight at the end of the off-ramp is red, and as I slow down, the noise dies down.   Sitting at the intersection with my car at idle, it feels like the world around me is idling as well.  There’s nothing out there – no sound, no movement, no animation, no life – just the fluorescent glow from the lifeless objects that hang above me.  Red becomes green and I turn onto the boulevard.

Second gear.
Fourth.
Sixth.

The road is level and my demeanor is relaxed – using every gear seems redundant.  I crowd the edge of the right lane to get the best view of the water as possible, but when I look to it, I realize my alignment on the road is in vain.

Beyond the grass and beaches, I can’t see anything.  There are no light posts on the ground and no moon in the sky.  The only presence I witness is the lack of one.  I know that somewhere beyond my vision is the mighty Lake Michigan, but a part of me is fooled into its absence.  My wild imagination spawns the idea of it being a true abyss, a vast nothingness… and I’m breathing the cool air while roaming along the edge of it.

I spot a narrow parking lot up ahead that dips down below the level of the boulevard.  At the last second, I turn the wheel and coast down into it, I feel the need to stretch my legs.  After backing into a spot, closing the windows and locking the doors, I step onto the hill behind my small, paved oasis from the boulevard.  Once reaching the top, I light another cigarette.

Now that I've left the speed of my car and the roads it was on, the wind no longer feels violent and unforgiving – it’s calm now and it sooths me when I feel it brushing against my cheeks.  The amber of my cigarette keeps my eyes from adjusting to the darkness and I can’t see the waves I hear somewhere in front of me.  To be certain I stay dry, I remain static at my spot on the hill.

In an attempt to be a deeper person than I really am, I try to reflect on my life thus far – family, friends, love and career.  However, the only notion that stays at the surface is how much I enjoy the solitude of some summer nights.  No liquor or liquored-up crowds to send me into a bedlam of distractions, and no obligation to engage in conversations with people I do not know.  On summer nights like this, all I need to worry about is me and my need to get away.  They’re a tolerable substitute for someone who doesn’t have the means to disappear without a word and travel for days or weeks on end – something that I have always longed to do. 

After what seems like an hour of thought, I yawn for the first time.  My insomnia is finally showing signs of weakness and it’s time to retreat to my bed.  I turn around and the breeze touches my neck for the first time, sending a slight shiver down my spine.  Approaching the driver’s side door, I hear random & subtle clicks from underneath the hood – it seems the engine is still very warm.  I must have spent a lot less time on the hill than I originally thought.  Once inside my car, I push the clutch in, turn the key and listen to it come to life.  The windows roll down, the radio turns on, and first gear puts me in motion.

Second gear.

Third.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Sixth.
Home.
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