June 28, 2013

Dear Johnny,

I want to take a road trip.  Not one of those lame, two hour, short trips.  I want to take a cross-country, stop at every attraction and forgotten track, kind of road trip.  I love the sound of the tires thrumming across the pavement, the look of the road as it recedes into the distance.

I remember my last day with you.  We took a drive along the coast.  The air smelled of salt and brine, and I could see the spot where the sky met the sea.  It was warm, but a cool breeze drifted through the car as we drove, faster and faster, towards nowhere in particular.  I had my hand out the window, my whole arm really, and I let it float on the wind like I remember doing as a child.  It was peaceful and perfect.

I loved that feeling.  You know, driving but not caring or knowing where you’ll end up.  That’s the kind of road trip I want to take.  It’s sad that people can’t do those kinds of things.  Only the rich or well-prepared, I guess.  I can’t afford to just leave my job for a month to drive off into the sunset, as they say.  But, oh how I want to!

You know that type of freedom.  I’ve never felt it quite like that before.  When I came to you, that was the first freedom I had ever truly experienced.  You said come, so I hopped that horrific bus and spent three days and 3000 miles just to see you.  I did it because I could, because I wanted to, and because I had no one or nothing to stop me.  I want the feel that way again.  With nothing to hold me back.

Driving.  A road trip.  Yeah, that’s what I wish I could do.  Drive until I see the Atlantic Ocean and can stick my toes in the white Florida sand.


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