The highways are like a claustrophobic blur of beige concrete and white headlights whizzing past me, despite my already-illegal speed.
“After years of waiting
/ nothing came.”
I’m distracted by driving in this foreign land, but all I want is to be back in the overcrowded, overheated room, entranced by the green and white glimmering lights. My brain strains to pack away the memories of booming, soothing sounds and fluid movement, and the weight of the man next to me, and the stoic face of the girl to the left of me. I want to be back in the overwhelming mythology of it–the expectation had been nill, forgotten really, but the results had been too spectacular for my mind to comprehend in the moment.
It feels like I’m driving on the highway forever. The GPS on my phone tells me I have eight more miles until the exit for 11 Mile Road. Maybe it feels like it’s taking so long because the other cars are flying past at top speed, and I’m in the far right carefully navigating a new stretch of earth.
I’m restless when I return; my body begs for rest, but my mind is overactive near the point of hallucination. I need to eat, I need water, I need a cigarette. Susanna and I drive to the nearby grocery store, well, knock-off Walmart, and my vision drinks up the stark white interior and brightly colored boxes and bags, and the memory of the night’s glory are already sinking away.