“The Americans have found the
healing of God in a variety of things, the most pleasant of which is
probably automobile drives.” ― William Saroyan, Short Drive,
Sweet Chariot
There are souvenirs of memory from
each and every road trip I've taken, slices of image and intensity
that I carry about in my mind's eye, that remind me of the road,
always the endless road ...
From my latest trip, only a week ago,
these images are of flashes of lightning, on the horizon, that light
up the Issan countryside, the low and distant grumble of thunder, and
the pounding, ceaseless rain. It is the sensation I have of avoiding
the left lane, where the puddles are forming so deep that they could
cause us to hydroplane and throw us off the road.
And all along the way Tan and I are
talking about family, and where we've grown up, the fights, the love,
the feelings we've had, of growing up and going separate ways, of
returning, of the ties that bind, as the rain pelts the windshield,
as we surge deeper into the darkness.
Another flash of lightening
illuminates the rice fields about us, and the low rumble of thunder
follows some minutes later. We're not about to get hit anytime soon,
but like any of heaven's fireworks displays, the threat is out there.
I feel like I've got to keep moving.
Curfew, imposed by the military only that week, falls over the land
at 10 p.m. All the 7-Elevens will be closed.
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