Escape

The Biscayne was a big car.  That is why my parents wanted it.  Safe.  If it had come in orange, I would have had that one instead.  It had bench seats in both the front and back and could easily sit four across.  If I ever had a date, that might be great.  It was a three speed with the stick on the column which was not hip at all.  But it was mine, a magic carpet, and I was happy.  The first thing was to get an eight track tape installed.  My father helped me do it.  Or I helped him.  Or he did it.  But with that, I was ready for every heartbreaking sunset.  

The good thing (or bad thing, depending on how you viewed it) was that my parents didn't mind me going out at night since there was always so much tension in the house.  I imagined that while I was gone, they were really able to yell.  It must have been awful.  

But I escaped.  All I had to do was turn the key and shift the lever.  

I was not allowed to smoke by my parents, but I kept a pack of cigarettes in the car.  Since both of them did, there was no danger that they would smell the odor on my clothing.  Windows down, cigarette in one hand, the other on the wheel, I cruised through interminable nights.  

 I would drive the miles down long, sleepy roads feeling. . . . Just that. Feeling. Everything was new, now.  Everything.  I could drive forever, I thought, just keep going and going, the wind commingling in my ears with the music.  All places were now accessible.