Seventeen

I didn’t know where I was going. That was okay.
I suppose I was going somewhere, after all, I was heading further and further away from the fluorescent glow of the city, growing less and less omnipresent, fading away, allowing the cloudless night to break through, revealing the starts and heavens above, drifting above the empty road ahead of me, showing the bright yellow markers that passed by, allowing me to see which cities were close, although there were few of those. I wasn’t sure where I was going, nor what I was heading from. I suppose when I got somewhere, I could decide then. But for now, I just had to drive. Although the darkness around me told me it was night, and this was only broken by the occasional truck or car. The night told me I should sleep, but I couldn’t. The darkness was just too bright.
The highway before me seemed to stretch on forever, into a world I didn’t know. I couldn’t see past the headlights glow that painted the 10 some feet in front of my old ’89 Sable. I noticed the occasional house, the inviting light from a window, but I could not stop. I could only keep on going.
It begins to rain. This feels nice, hearing the soft patter of rain against the windshield, seeing them trickle down the glass incline, wanting to meet me, wanting to see me. It comforts me, makes this all seem so much more real.
I could feel, in my head, the thoughts swirling around, some normal, some absurd. They all came and passed, memories brought to the surface, then buried again, they came in and out, like waves. I’d grasp onto some, and then after a few moments to ponder them, they’d remind me of another thought I had, which I’d ponder for a few moments. It’d keep doing this, until I remembered what I was originally thinking about, then I’d think about something completely different. It was like having a conversation with myself, in my own head. It was helped along by the soothing ambience of Boards of Canada, playing softly its powerful, yet barley present melodies, melodies and tones perfect for driving, and thinking. It comforted me, like ice cream, with it’s warm feel.
Then I remember the fight. The entire reason I was out here, on this midnight ride to nowhere in particular. I remember the entire thing, it began playing like an old film, I could almost hear the clicking of the projector, and it’s harsh hum. I could also hear her voice, piercing every nerve in my body, as she told me all that she had felt in the 2 years we had spent as one. All the anger, all of what I did, her true feelings, bottled up in side of her, all flew out at me. Her emotions broke me, and I could only just stand there, as she threw dart after dart, aiming straight for my heart, pinning my soul down and crushing it. She meant everything to me, and it ended in the worst way possible. It was too late for reconciliations. She had found another one that she became one with, symbiotically broke away from me, and latched on to a new person like I hadn’t meant anything. I didn’t even have time to cry.
And so all I can do is drive. Drive far away, to a place I don’t know about, on a road I’ve never been on before, so I can think, and move on. It’s a healing experience, being out here in this beautiful place in the country, while my family sleeps, while my one love in life loves another man, while the world is quiet. I drive so I can think about what I’ve become, and who I am in this world, because it’s all moving so fast, and I just need to slow it up, be alone, catch up with my own self before I catch up with anyone else. After all, I haven’t grown up yet. I still need time.