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Driving

I watch my rear-view mirror give in to the intensity of the music as the lights behind me fade. There is an aura of blue while the moon cuts between trees; hiding it’s pale face from the cool night. The roar of the pavement screams above all else, and this is my life:

Everything passing at the speed of my mind times three. I’m making such great time.

Destination: eighty miles, subtract eighteen – that’s how long it’s going to take me to get there – that’s the kind of time I’m making. The sky could fall right now and miss me; that’s just how fast I’m really moving. It’s like the road ahead, my headlights, the stars, everything is blurring together, and becomes clear for a fraction of a second. By the time I know what it is I’ve passed it. The road I am traveling is infinitely straight, with bends that are invisible until I am upon them. Relative to me, she sits adjacent; still in time, but not space. She is as sudden as me, but not aware. She and I travel, together, at the same speed; however, we could be, relatively speaking, traveling at different times. She is not just along for the ride. She could, at any moment, tell me to slow. No more making good time. I would surely slow to a crawl, if she wanted, to make more time good.

Driving

boyd

Alexandria, United States

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