An underlying constant...
by disillusioned
(Everything Else, 1844 views) - 9/26/04
(recorded 9/26/04 @ 1:27:00 AM)
The phone rang and it triggered an instant Pavlovian. In a few minutes, I would be driving far away from where I was. The temperature had finally broken and it wasn't pushing triple living-in-sin digits. I started with just the crack of my driver's-side window, and I realized that I might as well throw caution to the wind and let the wind come to me.

Pushing 70 miles per hour, your mind can begin to wander. You're paying attention to the road, but it's not as if you're studying it for an exam. Instead, my mind played the daydreaming game with me. And I played back. There's one constant in my daydreams- in my sojourns from reality- and it's who's along for the ride. With each opposite facing pair of headlights, I snap back to reality for just a few moments before I drift off again...

Pushing 82 miles per hour and you know that daydreaming isn't as much an option. So I settle for quiet internal dialogues. (They're internal. How loud are they going to be?) And still, even those are consumed by an underlying constant.

What do you say to someone who spends so much of your day with you and lives so far away?

Once you reach 90 miles per hour, you know there's no turning back. All *I* know is it took exactly twenty seconds to "convince" me to do something I had hoped would be asked of me. I'm pretty easily persuaded.

At 100 miles per hour, your perspective changes. No longer are you simply "speeding". Now, you're committing grounds for a felony stop. And there's something liberating about that. The wind is a fierce adversary but I choose to keep the windows down anyway. I imagine it for a second: what it would feel like for a cop to come up behind me at that moment. A part of me wishes it *would* happen. And a bigger part of me thinks for a second what would happen if I tried to run...

"105," my digital speedometer squeaks out. I know my car, and I know what it's capable of. I check the dash in split-second glances- my attention is much more focused on the road now.

I see the readout touch 110 for just a moment. And I dare to close my eyes for just a few seconds... I'm driving one-hundred and ten miles per hour down an Arizona freeway towards the sole object of my desire. In this moment, eyes shut, my mind tastes a million flavors: An image of a sunflower, large and top-heavy. The taste of Chai tea. What it feels like to cry in something you believe in. The itch on the sole of my right foot, just under the big toe. The smell of that perfume that completely drives me wild. The way some skin can be *so* soft, smooth. The burn of the wind as it forces my mouth into a smile. The smile that sneaks across my face when I think of who we could be.

One-hundred and twenty miles per hour. I'm not even going downhill. With this utter sense of urgency I want to be there right now; I force myself to go even faster.

Knuckles whiten and my grip tightens around the rubber steering wheel at 125. This is what life is all about and if that's not obvious to you, then you're doing something wrong.

130 miles per hour and I know I can't do much more. My tachometer is past the five mark and steadily approaching 6. I feel like I should stop, but I know I want this more than anything. I'm so close, I can taste it, and it's the one place I want to be this evening.

Zero. And I'm back to where I started. Still lacking, but further along in this journey. I hope it ends the way I'd like.

Originally for her, because she needed a story if not a visit, and so I gave her this...
Back to disillusioned's Notebook :: Back to the Musings
I hope it ends well, too.

   [bondservant (J) 9/27/04 2:34 PM]

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