Oh, I love this track!

Underscore: Ray LaMontagne’s “Be Here Now” – from the album “Till The Sun Turns Black” [play it if you have it…happy reading!]

The perfect day. Here and there she would experience pieces of something that idyllic in nature. But the close of that exact Saturday brought with it the prospect of one day truly encountering such an intangible moment in time. And she had an even stronger hopefulness than she’d ever yearned for before of attaining just that.

It could’ve been any other day…it started out ordinarily enough. She had some things on her mind, but then again, she always has things on her mind. She’s a thinker. But her thoughts were somewhat more introspective and pensive on this almost but not quite perfect day. Of course, she was unaware of this “almost perfection” at the time she was doing this thinking. Her thoughts continued to plague her all day though and by early evening they were spurring her on to drive.

Driving. The perfect day will always, for all time, consist of driving. She just so happened to have access to the C230 on this promising night, so she took it, sunroof open – windows down, and hit the open road…steering with just a wrist over the wheel. The wind awakened her senses by encircling the edges of the thin red scarf in her hair round the front of her neck and whipping her highlighted locks back and forth over the head cushion. It jarred her long dangling silver earrings against her jaw, each tiny jolt making her feel more alive, and flicked her soft flowing skirt farther and farther up her thigh in an ever so slightly caressing motion. A calm feeling of revitalizing washed over her.

Music. She needed some music…good music. She settled on Sarah McLachlan, early 90’s Sarah, the classic and timeless compositions. Who would’ve thought those temperate and soulful sounds could constitute good driving music? But for some reason, at this particular time, on this particular night, they did. The soft but strong voice dripped out of the speakers like thick honey and the elegant melodies buzzed around her ears provoking a sudden desire in her to start playing the piano again. She knew she’d have to skip #10 when it came on though…#10 is one of those songs that in order to listen to it, you have to be in the right frame of mind. If not, it could cause all of your insides to twist around and knot up, in a constricting and choking-like manner, and she was certainly not in the right frame of mind. She blasted the volume and thrust down the accelerator. A cool feeling of refreshing washed over her.

Hixson. She could’ve picked any destination, really. But there is and has always been something about Hixson for her. It’s doubtlessly no different than any other place in Chattanooga…Gunbarrel, East Ridge, Brainerd, Downtown…just farther away. She merged onto Highway 153, the wind gusting throughout the car the whole way. She passed the airport and briefly thought about the irony of flying…how you can go anywhere in the world, you just have to stay buckled in this one solitary seat…how strange that it gives such a sense of freedom and confinement all at the same time. She zoomed past the motor mile, one by one, rows and rows of sparkling cars, dealership after dealership. The lot lights reflected off all the shiny chrome as if the vehicles were beckoning passersby to come and rescue them, to allow them to fulfill their destiny of speeding along the open road too.

A sense of serenity swelled over the commanding wind and loud volume of the music as she neared the Tennessee River. When she later reflected on this moment, she realized why she has subconsciously always had a draw to Hixson. It’s found simply in the crossing of the Chickamauga Dam. On that night specifically, it was the tranquil sight that spanned the length of the watery horizon, the profound red-orange and intense bluish-purple of the sunset, and the wet aroma of the water that flooded every nook of the vehicle. As she neared the end of the bridge she found herself seriously considering a future road trip. Her family would be in Florida for vacation the next month, and barring the 12 hour solo drive, she had been contemplating meeting them there. But at that moment, it was all she could do to not hit the road right then…she knew the way by heart. I-75 South through Georgia, cross Northern Florida on I-10 East, then head down the Atlantic coast on I-95. All just to drive across that gorgeous stretch of bridge on I-295 that spans the St. John’s River…she realized that she could even cross it precisely at sunrise if the timing was just right, and this excited her. The mist was already settling like a hazy blanket on the marsh as the crossing of the dam came to a close and the road opened up into this wondrous place christened as Hixson.

She made a decision to park the car in one of those far, far away spaces and use the distance to breathe in the evening. No stars in the sky on that night, which on her perfect day there will be stars, loads and loads of them. But it did have that ominous blue-grey look to it that you could almost feel deep in your bones, signaling the nearness of an oncoming rain shower. She didn’t mind that, after all, there is a spot in her perfect day for a light rainfall. The pitter pat resonance, the cooling effect it produces, and the delectable mixture of water, grass, dirt, and asphalt that fills the air with a complex but pleasant fragrance…there’s just nothing quite like it.

Peacefully strolling along under the starless sky, she realized that the perfect day could be spent alone. While it would be wonderful to share something so ideal with someone, bringing another mindset into the picture might cause the dynamic to shift…to alter. Her mind wandered to a day a few months ago…it had driving, music, sunshine, wind, a rain shower, stars…the makings of a perfect day. The elements were all there until an amassing of negative detail and a sudden tilt toward understanding revealed to her that this day had been, in truth, only laced with ulterior motives and insincerity.

She got lost in a trance. It was the kind of trance that thinkers disappear into quite often. She launched into examining things she liked and disliked about herself, things she wanted to change or improve…the kind of mind exploration that thinkers do when they set out to purposely think. An indistinct smile was brought to her face as she started to remember the past, then it vanished as her mind drifted to some things she’d rather forget. She found herself heading home at some point, skirt still flicking, earrings jarring, locks of hair whipping, scarf encircling, and still steering with just a wrist over the wheel. The only element that could bring her out of this trance from time to time was the glow of the amber and ginger colored heat lightning as it flashed atop the distant mountain range.

She lay in bed late that night under just a sheet. The sensation of the fan whirling above her and the tapping of a light rain on the roof provided a pure and almost angelic lullaby. She let herself think back, she is a thinker after all, on that few months ago day, but only just briefly.

“Thank you for bringing me to your favorite place in the world,” she said as she looked up at him. “You’re my new favorite place in the world,” was the tender response.

"Oh, the experience of this sweet life…" – Dante

"I’m very big into driving lately. It might be a hobby. Driving."
"When I drive on nights like this I steer with just a wrist over the wheel." – Wanda, The Yip

// posted by The Emergent Teacher @ 12:26 PM