Drifting
The vast concrete stretches out in front of me, the smell of burnt rubber filling my nostrils like a bouquet of rotting flowers was just shoved into my face. Chunks of tire and garbage line the lanes surrounding me like a beautiful wasteland. My eyes only focus on what lies ahead, but nothing can distract me from how fast I am going in such a short amount of time.
At times, my eyes glaze over, and a quiet fear rises within me—the fear of losing control. In this space, I realize I'm the keeper of my own secrets; no one else will ever know what thoughts slip through my mind or what I whisper to myself here. There’s a strange intimacy in being so alone, just me, myself, and I. Interesting ideas surge up, tumbling over one another like a child speeding down a waterslide, thrilling and reckless. I’m caught in the rush of wonder, but I know that if I let myself drift too far, distraction could tip me over the edge, unleashing chaos that could shatter everything in my path.
Burnt rubber reminds me of the perfume I wear every day. The scent is all-surrounding, all-encompassing, like a suffocating hug that reminds you that you’re not alone. Like someone is whispering in your ear that they care about you and what you do to yourself. Yet, all I need here are the noises, smells, and visions. Being lonely has never been so comforting.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I spiraled out of control, who would come into my path, and what would happen in the long run. Would I stay frozen in place, petrified of what I am capable of? Would I become a fugitive on the run– hiding from myself, my actions, and my own personality? Those thoughts keep me company as I go about my journey.
I see every corner of Los Angeles—the fast-food joints buzzing with people, each person moving toward their own destination as I head toward mine. I’ll never know what fills their minds, what hidden storms churn in the depths of their thoughts. That realization is both unsettling and inevitable, a reminder of how vast and unreachable other lives truly are.
The road stretches endlessly before me, minutes blending into hours as I float along some predetermined track. I must go the way that is expected of me– after all, I am responsible for myself and everyone around me. Billboards flash by in bright colors, the smell of smog entering my nostrils as I gag in the back of my throat. The signs urge me to buy, to consume, to fill some empty part of myself that I never knew was hollow. I wonder what would happen if I never stopped running. If I just kept going like I never had responsibilities in the first place. The thought slips away like smoke, leaving only the sound of the tires humming beneath me and the lingering taste of freedom, sweet and bitter all at once.
The vehicle around me shakes and I realize that I’ve missed my exit.
