Neon Nightride

The sun dips downward in daily ritual, toward the horizon of a cloudless sky. Painting vibrant streaks of pink and orange, a fitting farewell. It's the last night before the world goes back to normal as we know it. Back to university. It's a great place, don't get me wrong; plenty of great memories, and people I can't wait to see. It's just too soon. Sitting in my Thunderbird Turbo I examine myself in the rear view mirror. Fixing my bangs with a flick of my flip comb, I nod.

Two seconds later I ignite the engine which roars in acquiescence. I stare down at my phone, scrolling for a proper playlist. I'm staring down the barrel at 2020 but live my summers in the 80's. Leather jackets, giant hair, roller derbies, dance nights. I've got one of those radio tuners stuck into the 12 volt slot beneath the dash. Nobody mods this fine set of wheels. Settling on my summer hitlist, I lock the screen and tuck the phone away.

Sliding into reverse I roll out of my 'summer home', away from my parents and the farmy, forested mountaintop. Destination: nowhere in particular. I simply crave a night drive to escape the burden of what comes with the dawn. Shifting to first gear, I give it some gas, accelerating towards the coastline belting out the only lyrics I know from the first track, "It's the final countdown!"

Minutes later, the sun is kissing the coastline, spreading its lips wide as the trees give way to the hillside. My descent into paradise is blessed by bright lights, but they're still mundane white. Windows down, I belt out all the lyrics of Don't You Want Me Baby to myself as I wind closer to my destination. I breathe deep, no longer surrounded by peaty farmland.

The buzz of a Beatle breaks my daydream between the rumbling of its broken muffler. I shake my head, watching it struggle to overtake my ride, cruising closer to the coast at a cool 121 KM/H. The last time I drifted at 142, I got pulled over for speeding. That was a rough couple of weeks with the parents.

The city drifts by in a blur of lights, the nightlife awakening in florescent stripes, dazzling blues, yellows, greens. They're the colours of my rainbow, beckoning me closer. I change lanes without hesitation. The wind twists my hair, curling it straight into my eyes and mouth. Tasting pomade I spit, fishing the strands free. Slicking my hair away from my face, hoping the wind doesn't pull it back, I skip forward a track, not feeling MJ right now.

I'm grateful that traffic is light. I glance left, grinning as I spy the water pierce through the shadowy coast. I wonder if Tory and Rory are out there for one last surf. There's a good breeze for it. I already miss the beachside evenings, bracing for the crashing waves like a waterpark. I bounce in my seat to the beat of Love Shack, keeping my right foot firmly on the gas to maintain optimal cruise speed. My left hand pops out of my window and I sing to the sky "Headed for the love getaway, love getaway, I got me a car, it's as big as a whale..." I stroke the cool chrome paint in reassurance.

Finally I spy my stop, sliding off the highway.

The dim road gives way to my headlights, guiding me toward the sandbar. I'm a lone rider. The sweet neon of the city lights glimmer in the distance, stretching into one another and the dark sky. Still moving my head to the beat, I grin and park, about one hundred meters from the sand. A single building stands at the end of the parking lot. I silence my ride, reluctantly extracting the keys. Cars are scattered before me as I saunter toward the old warehouse, its walls whitewashed to stave off rusting.

I pause to eye the glowing sign overhead. RINGO'S ROLLER RINK juts from the wall in bold, glowing rods. I respect everything about Ringo, the owner of this establishment, except her penchant for alliteration and obsessive compulsiveness when it comes classic bands. My gaze drifts over to the northern corner, opposite me. I spy a few bodies but can't make them out beyond their leathers. I breathe deeply. I'm home. For one last time this year.