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.
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.
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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Fourth.
Fifth.
Sixth.
Home.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Like what you read? Check these out:
Full Disclosure
Voice of Others