Many of the essays I write start with me listening to a song and my memory going to a place because of that association. Yesterday, I was riding the ubahn on my way to an outdoor callisthenics class with a friend. I listened to a song from 2009 that brought me back to the feeling of driving in my first car and the first long driving trip I took by myself when I was 16.
The year 2009 was brutal for me. I was 16, my best friend died in a car accident and I was combatting a deep, dark depression that none of the adults in my life were acknowledging. You would think I would have been scared to drive at 16 since I got my license a few weeks after I lost my best friend to a car accident but surprisingly, I wasn’t. I found driving as my way to be alone and escape. I always listened to music and drove around my hometown when I had free time. I had an SUV as my first car and at this time, we were paying nearly $5 a gallon (if not more) due to the war in Iraq. I essentially worked to fill my gas tank and drive around—a very unique feeling of exercising your independence as an American teenager.
Every year there was a big party weekend called “Quadfest” at at university that took place in late April. It was a four hour drive down 81 and was essentially a straight shot. Somehow I convinced my mom to let me drive (alone) to the town nearby to visit my niece and nephew. I packed my bags and picked up my two friends and off we went. One of the friends was actually a guy I was semi-seeing at the time. I didn’t really know if I liked him but I found myself in a vulnerable position with an older guy giving me attention and so I caved. He and I drove together in the front with his best friend riding in the backseat as we rolled the windows down and drove to Radford.
I’ve driven so many places in the 15 years I’ve had my license… From driving from one side of the country to the other, to the many trips I took from Tennessee to Virginia (500 miles one way), to the 11 hour road trips to see my friends in Florida, getting in the car and driving has always been an escape for me. It all began with this trip to Radford with two guys I had no business being with. This weekend, compounded with my very fragile state, taught me a very important life lesson when it came to respecting myself and taking time to think through a situation and be content alone.
I’ll spare you the details because unless I did an entire essay about Quadfest over the years, it wouldn’t be that interesting. The main point was, I went to this party and the guy who had worn me down into liking him went missing. About an hour or two into the party, I had to use the bathroom and when I opened the door, there he was kissing another girl from our school. I remember thinking to myself “you’ve got to be kidding me,” for more reasons than one. I couldn’t think of a more blatant display of disrespect but I was so numb to pain and hurt at this point, all I could do was laugh. I distinctly remember clapping my hands when he walked out of the bathroom with her. The look in my eyes let him know that he wasn’t welcome to ride back home with me.
The next day, I stopped at a gas station and got some snacks and a drink. I rolled the windows down in my car and cruised down the highway with four hours of solitude. I could simply be alone and feel the sun on my arm that was hanging out the window. This is a core teenage memory for me. I thought about what had happened at that party and how stupid I felt. I thought about my best friend who I’d never see again. I thought about the homework I still needed to do when I got home. I thought about my niece and nephew and how I should visit them more often. I listened to a stupid Akon song at full blast because I could. My little world had felt very heavy and gloomy for many months. This was the first time I found myself genuinely content and happy to be in that moment.