History, Part II

It's the summer of 98. I'm 18 years old. I'm on I-5 heading north to Seattle to see my brother. It's a gorgeous day. The sun is shining, nothing but blue skies. The river beside me, the sun flashing off its waves. The beautiful curves of I-5 in front of me. Everything is so perfect, but inside I am running. Running away from the home I grew up in. I'm doing 120mph in my Honda Civic, weaving between traffic. I'm in the zone. I never tap the brakes, never slow down. All I can feel is freedom as my Civic blows down I-5. I pass between a semi and another car with barely enough room to clear both ends of my car. I know my car well. I've done this before.

I can feel the engine screaming as I hit the governor's top speed. I want to go faster but I can't. I feel frustrated. I feel so free. I want to be in this moment forever, but all I've got is 4 hours.

As I drive there are some that try to race me. There's always someone in the crowd of cars that thinks they can keep up. My car may not be a race car, but I know it like the back of my hand. I know exactly where its limits are and what its size is. Most of them fall behind because they are too afraid. But I've got nothing to be afraid of. My life has been nothing but pain and misery, survival. No one can take this freedom from me, I won't let them. I don't think I'm going to die, but neither does the thought particularly scare me. When you worry about such things, you hesitate. Hesitation will lead to a fuck up, and you'll go off the road.

Some other day, a day not quite so beautiful, the roads just starting to dry after a slight drizzle, I come across an Acura. I'm doing 90, she's doing 80. As I pass I look in through the passenger side window and get a glimpse of a very cute blonde girl. Our eyes lock for a moment, but I keep going, and I forget about her. Just another driver I'm passing on my way to Seattle.

About 60 seconds later I'm checking my mirrors and blind spots for cars, and I notice the silver Acura behind me. We are both cruising at 90. I think nothing of it, she's just following the holes I punch in traffic. But I speed up. I don't like people drafting me. I hit 100, and she is still there. I hit 110, and she is still there. I hit 120, top speed for my car, and she is still there. She's right behind me the whole way. I smile. Someone who can keep up with me? We'll see about that. I tap my brakes to make her hesitate and break right two lanes. She breaks left into the carpool lane. Cheater. I swerve in and out of traffic, cars flashing by me like they are a white picket fence. We watch each other, which is dangerous. If you aren't watching the road. you could fuck up. But we are still watching each other. Glances, mere seconds, but we are definitely watching each other. We pull into a clear stretch between wolf packs (a wolf pack is a group of cars) and pull up beside each other. We take a good long look at each other. There's another wolf pack just ahead, and neither of us are backing off. This time, though, there is no carpool lane. I smile, because this time I'll surely lose her.

She taps her brakes and falls in behind me. Again, cheater. She's going to draft me through this pack. We come up on the tail end of them and I start looking for my holes. They open up for me like I was making it happen, and I sneak through. I wish I could see the looks on peoples faces when a red Honda Civic and a Silver Acura blaze past them doing 120, swerving between cars as if it was an obstacle course. I want to lose her, to make her do her own work, but she has other ideas, and right now isn't exactly the time to be playing games. I let her draft me through the pack until we hit the next clear stretch of highway.

I change lanes and tap the brakes so we come up next to each other. I nod my head in approval and mouth the words "Your turn". She smiles, and I fall in behind her. I'm putting my life in someone else's hands. If she fucks up, we both go down.

We hit the next pack and she is stunning. Never taps her breaks, always using her blinker, she slides through the pack like a gorgeous woman between silk sheets. She finds a closing hole and breaks for it, I'm not sure if she is trying to lose me but I keep up. I squeeze through, imagining what the sound would be like if I touched either bumper to a car. We break from the pack finally.

We pull up beside each other and I wave my cell phone at her, hoping to get her number. Any woman that can drive like me is a woman I want to know better. She laughs. Maybe because I'm hitting on her, maybe because she doesn't have a cell phone. I mouth "follow me" to her and pull in front. I break to the right-most lane and see signs for a gas station. I start slowing down and take the exit. She keeps on going.

I'm sad. But what the hell, I needed gas anyway.