The Drive
It's a long gruelling road that stretches before me every morning and night. The destination is always the same but the story of getting there is different each day. I wonder if it's all worth it. Paying the bills, keeping a roof over my head..yeah...I guess I have to make this trip over and over before something gives.
If I can't be happy about this daily drive, I might as will use it to think.
So many cars on the fucking road. We're all in a rush to go nowhere. If you're out the door really early you might see less of them but the fatigue sets in and your stuck out there just like the rest of the stiffs. You accept it and then you try to put it out of your mind. It hurts less that way.
I see an assortment of flowers and a cross laid out by a tree on an exit ramp on the highway. Someone must have hit it and died. He or she was a football fan. One of the floral arrangements is made to look like one. Maybe it was a high school kid. I'm passing too quickly to read it but the early morning frost has bitten into the colorful vegetation, causing it to wilt and and shed it's vibrance. A lot of people must of cared for this person. I wonder how many other people have died travelling this road and I hope I'm not one of them. Would anyone put up a memorial for me if I did? How would it look like. All of this is too morose. I shift my attention to the jammed lanes ahead of me.
No accident here, just everyone in a rush to go somewhere they don't want to go at the same time. I'm too tired to be angry, I just go along with it.
"It is what it is." Such a stupid saying but it fits right here, I don't like what "is" is. I'm getting angry, I shift my attention to the radio.
More fighting in Iraq, people are losing their homes. Banks lie to them and people lie to themselves to grab a hold of that elusive American dream. I look around at the cars around me. They're here fighting for that so called "dream" also. Have any of them found it? And if they did get it are they happy? Was it everything they thought it would be? The look on their faces begs to question. I hate money. I hate how we jump through hoops for it but we have too. I hate how the banks, media and all beat us into submission by telling us buying things we can't afford will make us happy. We're all hamsters running in a caged wheel. Many can't stop running and even more can't get away. How would we escape if we wanted to? I can't deal with that now.
I'm passing the city of Bridgeport. An industrial wasteland and prime example of urban decay. Once bustling factories lay abandoned. Houses are empty, and boarded up on one side of the highway. On the other side is a new minor league baseball stadium and indoor arena. It's the cities salvation. A promise of what's to come. Will anyone be around to see it when it does arrive?
Getting closer now. My legs feel heavy. I've been driving for a while now. I noticed the Chevy's and Hondas are now Mercedes and BMWs. I'm in the blue blood country. We all grind to a halt once again. I look inside these luxurious vehicles. Most are beautiful women talking into their mobile phones. They're bored, bitchy and powerful if you take corporate rank into account. I wonder if they're really happy. They have it made on the outside but what's going on inside?
My male instincts kick in. Are any of them lonely? What naughty things have they done. So prim and proper but is it all just a sham? One catches my eye. A gorgeous brunette in a sleek black Mercedes, early 40s. I have a brief fantasy of her wanting to slum it with the "common folk" and getting something started with me. She's bored of her McMansion life and wants to roll the dice. We fuck on the hood of her car letting out all our pent up aggressions from days, weeks and months of the grind. On the surface I hate her bourgeois lifestyle and she hates my modest middle class sensibilities. We taunt and fight to subordinate each other with forceful thrusts, groans and deep kisses that excite us all the more. Would she want me to be her gardener once she knew of my Latin background? Cleaning man, perhaps? Racist thinking in most contexts but filthy goodness in this situation. Taking care of the lawn, planting and ploughing take on a whole new and wonderful meaning. But it's too early to be thinking of this. The flame
Almost there, I can't wait for it to end. I'm on the off ramp. I see dozens and dozens of day labourers from Mexico and all parts of South America standing on the side of the road. Rain or shine they are there. A truck comes by and stops. They all make a run for it, hoping to be taken to wherever they need to go for a days work. I imagine it to be hard manual labor. Not my cup of tea. I know that on my way home some of them will still be standing there, hoping to be picked up to cut down a tree or move boxes. For a moment my cynicism is put into perspective.There is always something worse than what you have but there is always something better. One will make you very unhappy, the other may not make you as happy as you think.
I keep travelling this road, hoping that I find another place to turn that leads to a new trip.
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"I keep travelling this road, hoping that I find another place to turn that leads to a new trip.
We're all looking for the "dream."
Isnt THAT the truth.
I love a good road trip.
I haven't done that in a long time. There is 'something' about driving long distance with the windows down and the right sound track that cures the soul.
Maybe a new job that makes the drive something to look forward to may be the answer?
You really are a fascinating guy, you know that?
Meleah I agree. I drove up to Montreal and founf it very liberating in a way.
Maritza - I fear the Ricardo may die before that is realized. ;-)
Mr.Lady - Really? thank!! :-) Spread the word!! I hear the chicks dig that.
I look forward to & enjoy my drive to and from work. It is only 15 minutes, but it is the stillness in my crazy day! My only 'alone' time. The only time I can listen to whatever I want to on the radio. The only time I don't have to talk to anyone. I love it.
I love your analysis of people chasing down the American dream. Too many people waste their lives chasing it down instead of what truly makes them happy. I also realize that Jamaican are starting to chase that dream. You couldn't resist fantasizing about one of them didn't you?
Leah - Ic an totally understand how with the family and all you can really use that alone time you speak of. The drive must be a sanctuary for you. I'm glad you have that as we all need it.
Leon - It's a dream of fallacy!!! LOL! OK maybe I'm being to harsh but it's destroying people these days not empowering them.
As for your fellow countrymen, let them take heed to what is happening here. I wish them prosperity but not at the price of being a slave to an ideal that's based on living above one's means.
Good points Ricardo. I've had to commute to work in the past and it did make me think about a lot of things during the drive. I finally got burn out and moved a few blocks from the office. Now I ride my skateboard to work a few times a week to keep the oil companies out of my bank account as much as possible.
I'm appreciating the observations. Your thoughts are on point. I know one that you mentioned I had the other day.
I cannot write all my thoughts here. Great post.
Did you get my e-mail? It was short and not very welcoming. But I'm no writer either so...
Clay - Yes I've been burnt out on this myself and would love to take a bike or something to work. I can only fall down and wipe out on skateboards. LOL!
Urban - Thank you for reminding me as the email got thrown into my spam folder. My apologies for not getting in touch with you sooner. I wonder what thoughts you had the other day, young man! :-)
:)
Love seeing those smiles Meleah.
Road side memorials always make me stop and pause. The same sort of thoughts go through my head, too. What would happen if I got clobbered? How many pictures and flowers? Would there be any? My family would be too devastated to make a memorial. Do strangers lay flowers, too? Because I've thought of dropping fresh flowers to a strangers roadside memorial when all of the others are wilted and dead. Anyway, more food for thought in Ricardo's hood, as usual!!
You know Huckdoll I wonder if strangers laid flowers down as well. I think it would be a nice gesture. The memorial reminds me of my own vulnerability every time I pass it. Sometimes it's a good thing, other times it's not really. It's always sad, that's for sure. Glad I could get you thinking.
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