give me a city to roam, and a hand to hold.
Beers, indie rock songs, cheap motels and rebellious decisions inside the back of a dark green Volkswagen: You have lived years of your life with high spirits and tears and broken memories. With the agony...
CHAPTER EIGHT come a little closer, then you'll see
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If a bad memory is like a bird, it's okay to know it is sitting on a branch nearby. It's okay to notice it fly and sing. Yet move in calmness with eyes only for the nature around you, with skin that feels the wind and eyes that open for the light. When your mind naturally moves back into the present, into the moment that is the gift of life, the bird will be gone.
A sensation of vibration as patterns bleed from the car walls. Breathing in unition while we consume the feeling of colors and the sight of music. The beginning to a journey that may not end. We make our way from place to place in the purple haze of night. Empty except for the occasional glimmer of humanity. Our laughter filling the streets. We continue with no destination in mind. But nowhere is somewhere. Somewhere is nowhere. And thoughts are everywhere. A pandemonium of confusion. Yet chaos is order. We scream from the rooftops as the sun is on the rise. A beautiful beginning to an end. Awe watch in awe as the blue silk of the night sky away, slowly making room for a shiny new day. The red orb of sun blinding the human eye. The earth moves in rotation, and we with it.
"Where are we actually going?" The green-eyed Cuban asked curiously.
"I don't know." I reply, "Somewhere. Away. I kinda want to go to New York. I mean I like Ponte Vedra, Florida, but New York seems so much better. How long does it take to get to New York?"
I heard Jackson tap the wheel as he turning up into a highway, "Uh, it's about nine hundred miles away, so... probably about fourteen hours."
"Wow, you know math." I scoffed playfully.
"What can I say? I'm the best." Jackson bragged as Lauren giggled, shaking her head.
"So, we're headed to New York?" Lauren asked.
"Sure." Jackson says, adjusting his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, "We'll make some stops and explore until we get there."
The black flag on the car flutters violently in the wind. It was cute on the city streets but here on the highway it moves so quickly and noisily that I wondered if it might break away from the pole. I watched the cheap plastic bending and the material beat as if it were trying to take flight. It stays that way, a battle between pole and flag until the car slows for the off ramp.
The driver fiddles with the radio to fill our ears with the latest popular tunes, starlets, the new pop idols. Jackson let out a sigh of frustration and pulled out a CD called Melophobia and slipped it into the car. Cage The Elephant's "Come a Little Closer" plays loudly in the background as the Jackson rolled all the windows down. The wind was roaring in the great trees by the highway, as if it were some wild dark grove deep in a forgotten land. And, as the song continued to build up towards the chorus, I put my head up and start nodding my head slightly along with the beat of the song as I stared out into the window. I could hear Jackson hum to the song as we speed down the highway. A few seconds later, he turns up the music louder and louder. The wind was roaring along in the great bare trees of the centre, as if it were some wild dark grove deep in a forgotten land.
