Not long and the school year will end. My tires will soon see four thousand miles of road. As I depart my tires will be split between the black freshly tarred asphalt and the speckled gray color of the curb. I’ll enter the freeway and the black will change to gray and the grooved cement I am driving upon will feel like a celebration egging my spirits along. Four hours until I’ll be out of the state, only then I will permit myself to stop for gas and a snack. I’ll park on the gritty oil stained cement slab and refuel my tank as I once again will make the window clean with which I am soaking up all of the foreign scenery. Off once again but only for a while. Soon I’ll stop at a statue marked “The World Largest Stack of Empty Oil Cans.” I can be seen from far away. The cans are not shiny, but painted a dull silver bland like the dusty tan dirt road they lie on. Later they’ll be stars in the sky and I’ll notice the yellow and white strips and dashes on the road for the first time that day. The road will be dead black, alive only when my high beams brighten the path I am taking.
Yes, in two months I will be gone again. I’ll be in my favorite place, the car.