Today we will climb into our freshly washed and vacuumed minivan and drive 5 or so hours up to Sheboygan Wisconsin where we will meet 5 sets of our friends for a long weekend on the beach. Hopefully the kids possess enough coloring books, crayons, pens, blank notebooks, and stamina to make the trip with the least amount of angst.
At some point in the trip, we will all throw out our given lines. Elizabeth will ask, “Are we there yet?” and cry when she is tired but, “I can’t sleep in this chair Mommy!” I’ll tell her to do her best, and we’ll be there before she knows it. Josh will reach his limit for Hannah Montana and past vacation bible school CD’s and claim control of the radio after the first 60 minutes.
Kai will fight falling asleep in the car, as he could miss something really cool if he does, and will whine for about 45 minutes before he acquiesces and brings his thumb up to his mouth for a nap.
I will gather up all of my magazines and books that I saved for the ride and will realize that I need to go to the bathroom…again, and calculate how long I can hold it before mentioning it to Josh.
One of my favorite ways to pass the time in the car is to peek into the compact worlds of the other cars zipping by us. I imagine a young girl of 20 something with perfect skin checking her deep auburn hair in the rearview mirror. She is stunningly beautiful, but you can tell by the way she squints her eyes at her reflection that she is disappointed in her cosmetic efforts today. Thick white clouds hang in the sky as if suspended from swaying braided. The maroon Buick she drives has matching velour interior. I imagine it smelling of flat soda, fruit inspired shampoo and stale bread. Bouncing back in her chair she adjusts the volume knob up on the radio, and pushes her freshly manicured foot down on the accelerator to pass us, trading a fresh lip gloss application for the surge of speed beneath her.
I would like to press pause on all of the cars out on the road with us today and find out where they are going and how they feel about it. I especially notice this desire when I am out traveling at odd hours, early in the morning, before people make their way into halogen lit offices, or in the middle of the night.
Who is running away from home? Who is on their way to catch a flight to a place they have always dreamed of, taking a chance, packing a bag and just doing it. Who is so filled with sorrow and dread that they sit in their car and drive just to move. He drives throughout the town avoiding sleep and her unpredictable dreams. He keeps all thoughts at bay with a turn signal here, and a radio station change there. Bob Dylan squawks poetry with his guitar and he keeps his speed five miles above the limit, a police officer the last person he wants to talk to at this point. Instead the highway turns into a massive game board, each exit an opportunity to make a decision to stay or go. Yet, in truth, he knows not to venture too far away in case sleep will no longer wait patiently in the smooth leather backseat.
In our beloved cars we sit right next to each other, if only for a moment’s passing, so close I could toss a ball into that man’s open truck window. I imagine taping a note to a smooth racquet ball. “How are you doing today? We are off to our vacation house to meet up with friends and I am so excited about it. How about you? Where are you off to?” He reads my note and smiles with pleasure. He likes that I’ve taken the time to inquire about him. Taking one hand off the wheel, he reaches under his seat and grabs a marker. “I’m off to my mother’s in Nebraska. She is auctioning off her farm today and my brother and I both want it. Hopefully I’ll come out on top.” I tell Josh to slow down and roll the large passenger window down. He takes aim and it sails back into our car. I nod knowingly after reading it and the man pushes ahead. I’m happy to know that people still long for land and siblings will argue no matter what their age.
I doubt the above will occur while we’re on the road today. Still, I am looking forward to the trip. I may not be able to stop time to chat with my automotive neighbors, but I can look for a truck that might be heading to Nebraska.
3 comments:
I have thought of doing something like that before, but slightly less dangerous. You could simply hold up your cell number and try to get the person to call you. Then you could have a relatively safe conversation. Assuming of course that he/she is not a weird stalker person.
Matt-
I don't think I'll be flashing my cell phone number at anyone anytime soon, but it is fun to meet people or imagine where others are going!
"I imagine it smelling of flat soda, fruit inspired shampoo and stale bread."
I remember my friend's parents car always smelled like sour milk. How on earth did they not smell it? I would always open the window or breath through my mouth. I'm glad my parents' cars didn't smell like sour milk.
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