The First Night The Road Was Mine

I had car keys for the first time in my life.

I kept taking them out of my pocket, jingling them in my hand, running my fingers over the metal. The ignition key had six sharp points. I knew it by touch already.

I wasn’t trapped at my grandmother's, wasn’t marooned as I had been in high school. The house I grew up in was three miles from the nearest bus stop. You needed a car to get to a job and a job to get a car. For four years I’d been stuck inside that loop. Not anymore.

I never gave my first car a name. A label was too insignificant, unworthy of what she brought into my life. To the casual observer she was a plain twenty year old sedan. To me, that car was surfacing. After years underwater I could breathe. I could twist the key in the ignition and just go. Not the passenger at the mercy of others, the driver. 

I didn’t make much money at my first job but I was living rent free and gas was cheap. Eventually, I bought an inexpensive cassette deck along with two equally low tier speakers. My cousin installed them in my grandmother's driveway. He was happy to help; my cousin had gotten a car earlier that year and understood the importance of a soundtrack as you drove…anywhere. 

Cassettes were scattered on the passenger side of the bench seat: Old Cure and Depeche Mode, Notorious by Duran Duran. I turned the volume up high enough to make the vinyl door panels vibrate. The destination was irrelevant, it was all about being in motion as I drove up and down the four lane suburban streets. An album would reach the last song and I’d contemplate what I wanted to listen to next. One hand on the plastic steering wheel, I’d half watch the lights and traffic as I ejected a tape and grabbed another one. I learned to do it by touch—coarse vinyl, wrong tape, toss it back, try again. Running a finger along the dash until I found the eject button, hearing the click as the tape popped out and then shoving another one into place. Driving on.

I was terrified of merging onto the freeway. I only tried late at night when traffic thinned and the risk felt manageable. After braving the on-ramp, I’d motor up and down the interstates, further and further each night. Just driving, it didn’t matter where. Exiting off to follow farm roads with the full moon making the green fields glow, down the interstates to towns I hadn’t explored. Further and further.

I drove until the songs ran out and then I’d start them up again.