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The retreat is over, and I have decided that I will ride home alone. I have done a lot of thinking this weekend, and while it has been water to my soul I don't want to talk my way home. I want to turn up the radio and sing very loud and possibly out of key if the song is right. I have already packed, so I toss my Bible and scarf on the passenger seat, wish them a good ride, buckle up, and pull forward without looking back. I engage the four-wheel drive, and haul past the little turtles holding 'drive slowly' signs. The children are at church, no need to slow down.
I hit the main road, I am free. I have been singing that James Blunt song to all of my friends out the window, mostly because it has often repeated lines of "goodbye" and because it makes them all quite uncomfortable when I say "lover", and this is my role. So "Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend" to you all!
I flick on the radio to get something else in my head, I am taking the little curves at the highest possible velocity for safe home-getting, because I can. What do you know, Sir James is on the dial, singing to me about how I have been the one and how he shared my dreams. I've kissed your lips and held your head, Shared your dreams and shared your bed, I know you well, I know your smell, I've been addicted to you. -- Ah, I know exactly what you mean.
But I won't be stuck in a moment, so the song ends and I change the channel, Switchfoot is telling me that this is my life and wondering if I am who I want to be. I tell them in my mind as I sing their questions at the top of my lungs: No guys, I'm not everything I dreamed that I would be when the world was younger and I had everything to lose. I am so much more and so much other. The world hasn't gotten that much older, and I now have nothing to lose. I am becoming, and I am being. This must be who I want to be, because it is who I am being.
And suddenly the music stops mattering. I think there was some more Switchfoot, I vaguely remember singing along with The Cure, and Rascal Flatts, some good stuff like that. In some instant the slow truck in front of me had disappeared and the road had widened to two lanes, leaving me free to wander at my own pace. The sidelines became marked with signs of scores and symbols, all leading to the very adventurous game. Some might recongnize these signs as warnings of the dangerous turns ahead, giving suggested speeds to take them safely. To me and my Wild and Dangerous comrades, there is an entirely other symbology:
- The yellow numbered sign is of the curve's rating. The scale is inverted from 55--being the lowest fun rating, to about 25--the highest fun rating.
- The adjacent sign with an arrow representing the turn may show a slightly curved straight arrow, indicating that one may begin gassing directly after getting into the turn because it will soon be over.
- The fully curved arrow indicates a complete hairpin turn. In this case one should downshift, take a deep breath, and gain control, and get ready for the rush.
The feeling that kissing gives to lips, these turns give to the rest of the body. As the tires grip the road and centrifugal force tells the vehicle to fly off a cliff, every neuron in the body gets a hit of some craved adventure signal. About halfway down the hill I hit a Full-Curve 30, the best this mountain has seen yet. I kick to third, turn down the radio, take a deep breath, and smile deeply as my hands tighten on the wheel, my right quad tightens my foot above the brake, both arms firm up in yoga like posture. Jeep and I take this curve at the absolute maximal tension point, which happens also to be the climax of the curve for safety and pleasure. It seems to go on for ever, like we may have gone through the mountain and come back out somehow. It was absolutely beautiful. I hear only rushing wind and my own voice cheering at our success. Yeahea! I suppose it is like a blend of yeehaw and woohoo, both of which I adore.
After this, we float down the rest of the hill, rocking out to Otis Redding singing 'Sitting on the Dock of the Bay', finally meeting a red light and a car full of friends at the bottom. I sing to them with my flush face and euphorically smiling lips. They shake their heads and smile, tell me I'm getting on the wrong freeway. I tell them that the road is my home now, so I certainly don't need directions. The light turns green and I greet the road, knowing I have somehow just been initiated. Welcome Home.
1 comment:
Courtney-
I feel like you are awesome and dangerous and innocent in so many great ways all at the same time.
You are an incredible girl.
I appreciate you and I appreciate our friendship.
-Mike Morabito
ps. thanks for sharing this story, i really felt like i saw what you saw and felt what you felt. beautiful.
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