bgfay

I don't miss commuting, but I'm all about the occasional long drive alone.

My daughter and I drove the New York State Thruway back to SUNY Brockport from Syracuse, talking, lapsing into silences, pointing out Teslas as they passed, and staring down the unwinding road ahead of us. Time on the road loosens her just enough to say things she might not otherwise. It's lovely.

After we unpacked her things in her room it was time for her swim practice. I said, "I guess I'll get going," hearing Dad's voice, the repeated rhythm of being a father. She didn't say anything or even nod, but there's almost imperceptible that sadly said, "I guess so." Then she half accepted my hug. "I love you," I said and went out the door.

In the stairwell I took in all the air I could hold, held it, then sighed it out of me, thinking, I am not going to cry.

I walked to my car, got in, pulled the seatbelt around me, chose music, and drove away. I was distracted enough I made one wrong turn, another, and then found my way to Main Street, out to 31, down 531 to 490, and back on the Thruway, east away from my girl.

It would have all been terrible, but the drive was lovely. Music played and I listened some, but mostly my mind drifted almost dangerously away from driving. I daydreamed like a child, sank into memory, told myself silent stories. Rather than think everything through, I drifted with feelings, the unfocused images and ideas carrying me further than the car ever could.

I thought, this could make a good piece of writing. I considered dictating to my phone, but no, it would wait. And so it has.

Nearly two hours later I exited the Thruway, traveled 690 East to Teall Ave., snuck down Lynch Avenue behind the concrete plant and abandoned green house succumbing to gravity, crossed Erie Boulevard to Westcott and home. I walked up the steps, unlocked the door, and called hello to the animals. The cats arrived first, then went off on their own. The dog yodeled and whinnied, her tail wagging her whole back end, her teeth bared in what we know as her horrible smile of ecstasy. It had been over four hours after all.

I miss my girl, but the drive cleared my mind and restored me. I'm ready to write. A blog post and then a note I'll seal in an envelope addressed to room in Brockport. The words come less like thoughts than like the lines on the road, the solid one down the side, the broken lines between the lanes, and the varied line of the horizon always ahead, ever out of reach, quietly pulling me forward toward tomorrow.