Driving at Night
The air is warm but the breeze that rolls in from the open windows is brisk. It blows my long hair in all directions but mostly into my face. The sky has gradually dimmed, and one by one I can spy the stars as they peek out. My hand hangs out the window, palm facing forward and fingers open to let the air filter through. We drive on slowly winding backroads, with destination in mind but in no hurry to get there. The high beam headlights break up the dark, giving us a distorted view of what lies ahead. We drive by expansive, open fields and wooded neighborhoods, where the cooler air given off by the thickets of trees enhances the sweet smell of pine.
There is a closeness that comes with driving at night. The feeling of being in your own little world consisting of the interior of the car and those in it, the path that is lit ahead of you and the one you’ve left behind. A world interrupted every few minutes with the passing of another pair of headlights. I sit relaxed in the passenger seat as my friend steers the vehicle around a curve. The soft tune of the radio hums along, creating a peaceful atmosphere. Turning onto a road running parallel to a marsh, you can almost taste the saltiness of the air, heavy and almost fishy. We slow as the road is engulfed in a thin, gray fog, making our world seem even smaller. I hear a familiar beat from the radio and turn the knob up a few notches. Grinning stupidly, we both realize the quick strumming belongs to Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep”. It’s one of those songs that you just can’t not sing along to. Suddenly the small car seems to be bursting with life. We sing loudly and off key to the dark space ahead, I clap my hand against my leg to the beat. Half way through the song, we come to an intersection. My house is down to the right. We turn left and keep singing.
