Full Drive

The one that made my parents worry about my medical health, but it is just a useful plot point haha.

Full Drive

 

‘Three hundred?  Four Hundred?  A thousand?  Honestly, if I had to, I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve driven this winding mountain road.  When does mundane set in?  When you notice it has, or is it earlier?’

            I’ve been saying these thoughts aloud like this for some time now.  It is not the obvious origins of these thoughts that bother me, I can see that clearly, but what does give me pause is the clarity that I think upon them throughout the day.

            Doctors say its normal.  But, I don’t feel normal.  I felt normal two months ago.  I felt normal when I received my letter of acceptance.  Now normalcy feels like a distant sand dune off in the setting desert horizon.

           

Towering evergreen trees stand quiet along the roadside.  They are the sentinels of the forest, vigilant until their end.  I wish I knew each tree; that I could remember when each had begun as a sapling, and marked its time with mine as it grew like I did.  But instead I allocated my memory banks to varied potholes that litter the roadway.

            As I pass through a set of sharp S-Curves I feel sad.  No.  No, sad is not the right word, no, not even the right emotion.  I don’t know how to sum it up, but I feel an emptiness to myself that I have put more stock into the human made creation, rather than what the sun, soil, and water has given birth to.  Regret doesn’t fit either, because I know that it is easy to overlook what surrounds you, I do not look at my past self as selfish in that regard, maybe in others, but in this instance.  To be honest, this black streak of ground I’m driving on has almost become an old friend of mine.  How does that happen?

            I know I have other memories of this road, ones that aren’t so directly tied to driving.  But at present the gentle hum from the engine shifting gears fills my ears.  The slight stick of the steering wheel to my hands gives me feeling of strange satisfaction.  And I can always detect the gentle smell of the leather upholstery.

 

My friends are awaiting me at the end of this drive.  We are meeting up at local bar named “Henry’s 8”.

            No one really knows where the name derives from.  Even Henry isn’t sure.  He would say, “The name just stuck.”

            As with the pines, I couldn’t tell count how many times I have frequented Henry’s.  But that lost number doesn’t sting quite as deep.

            Since my friends and I stumbled across the bar a few years back; tucked away under the shadowy canopy of the forest and nestled between the far off glow of the city and the perceived emptiness of ever retracting woods, we have frequented the establishment.  Whether it has been for a casual weekend night, or to celebrate a friend’s achievement.  Henry’s 8 has been there.

            Tonight we are getting together, just to get together.  I still haven’t told them about the test.  I haven’t told anybody for that matter.

            When I fell down abruptly two months ago I attributed the stumble to exhaustion from studying.  But after the three stitches to my forehead my doctor wanted to speak with me.

            I sat, and waited in one of those examination rooms with the weirdly uncomfortable soft beds that has the disposable medical paper over top of it.  The room filled with charts and diagrams that I vaguely understood.

            After an hour of waiting my doctor came in and asked if he could run some tests.  I thought about asking him what the tests were for, but I declined to.  What did it matter?  I guess that isn’t a normal feeling to have, but again, I haven’t felt normal since that day in exam room.

            I suppose I should tell my family, but its still so early on.

            What I’m concerned about most, is where I left my sunglasses the other week.  I know it doesn’t seem like an appropriate concern.  I tell myself this before I get upset about not being able to find them.  But, f**k, its frustrating as hell in the morning when the sun is rising and I can’t hardly see s**t when I’m driving to work.

            For now, well, its dark out, so the immediate worry about my glasses has dissipated.

            It sure is bright out tonight.  Its nearly a full moon.

 

I love the moon, its just so…so…so…calming.  Never beating down like its fiery counterpart.

Carefully stealing a peak at the gentle white orb in the sky I can it resting gently above the ridged mountain range.  I like that its rays are casting a soft gentle light over the landscape.  Giving a person just enough light to appreciate the land around them.

On most evenings when the moon is near full I enjoy staring into its far off craters and subtle mountain peaks.  There is always something new to discover about it.  I guess I could say that about a lot objects and places, but I don’t.

 

Turning off the main road I begin the final leg of my drive.

            Those same trees that populate the roadside grow thicker once past the layer of gravel that lingers long past the snow piles of winter.  Some from the city may find the over hanging branches frightening.  I once had a friend that said, “It feels like the trees are going to grab me and bury me away from the world”.  To make a short story even shorter, we are no longer friends, not solely because of that comment, but it did contribute in a way.

            To me, the arms of the forest feel more like a warm embrace.

            It was in these trees that I had many firsts, and yes there were mistakes made as well, but I do try not to dwell on the latter.  These days I notice that I focus more on the divergent paths that may become my life.  Its dangerous to that play that game, but its nearly impossible for me not to jump into the ring.

 

As I pull into to park at Henry’s the light of the moon is overshadowed by the yellow glow that is pouring from the windows of the establishment.

            The building itself is held together with construction techniques from just about every decade.  It’s a mismatch of personality.  But inside I can see the characters that bring me back each time.

There aren’t many other places I’d rather be right now.  The warmth of good company is not hard to find, it’s the time that you put into those relationships that can be difficult to find.  So maybe I do owe it to them, to tell them.  Not because its inevitable that they will find out in one form or another; and not because I want them to feel a certain amount of sadness or worry for me.  And I’m pretty sure its not because its what you’re suppose to do.  I think, well, I think I want to tell them because people in life people care about, not just your ups, but also your downs.  It is the shared experiences.

So, now, I am going to turn off the engine and go say hi.