When I say I drove nowhere in the dark last night, I’m not talking metaphorically, or at least not just. I got in the car, thinking I should do west and turn whenever, and see if I wanted to go anywhere. In the end, I just drove for an hour through Berlin, Barre and into a small town I didn’t catch the name of. I followed a curvy road that hugged the mountain then stretched alongside a vast valley of snow. I went higher and higher, a little worried the slim road would end, and did, in fact, have to make some 360 degree turns to go the other way.
I have no idea where I went.
Playing E. Street Radio full-blast, Bruce Springsteen singing a slightly warped version of “Born to Run” recorded from before he got the timing down and got famous, I drove. The darkness cleaned out my mind. The speed dropped away my thoughts. The music erased where I was in time.
Eventually, I found a familiar road, a turn into the obvious way back to Goddard, and I took it, the crescent moon riding side saddle the whole time.