The only problem right now is that I have no idea what to do for the next 5 days.
I Now that I’m twiddling my thumbs, I miss Candy.
Me and my baby, the day I bought her
To those not in the know, Candy was my white ’99 Volvo station wagon. She looked like a pimped out refrigerator – with tinted blue windows and oddly blinged-out rims. She had the most comfortable leather seats you could imagine in a car and the most fantastic pickup. Her stereo was reliably loud, her center of gravity low enough for the sharp corners I love.
Such great things happened in that car. I learned how to drive (properly) in her. I gained independence at college – not having to rely on the shuttle to get me around was the best thing to happen to me in my second year. I went on road trips to Cornell to visit my sister and friends. I left my entire life packed up in her over the summers.
Candy took me and a man I loved down to New Orleans for a week. She gave us a smooth ride over the freeways and sky-lines of the southeastern states and swamps.
The Smokey Mountains of Tennessee
She took us to the Howe Caverns, for a date in a pitch-black cave. She took us to Six Flags. She took us on our roller-disco date. We spent hours of our limited time together driving.
I spent hours talking to one of my best friends in her. We’d park in front of his dorm and just talk for ages about everything. She took us up to the Catskills for an unforgettable, misty hike up a mountain.
The sun setting over the Howe Caverns
She took me on the wonderful winding road between Bard and Kingston – beautiful and twisty in the best ways. She took me to Barnes & Noble on my worst days, when I just wanted to run away from anything that wasn’t the written word.
With Candy, I developed a (perhaps terrible) habit of loving to drive alone. I love getting into a zone, with music blaring through the stereo, absorbed by the road ahead of me. I used to drink Pepsi while I drove, but now I prefer Irish Breakfast tea. I think well while I drive.
Today, as I contemplate the days stretching ahead of me, I feel an immense frustration at being unable to just… drive away. There is a car that I can drive here, but it isn’t the same. It isn’t my car. Where would I drive it anyway? Where could I go?
The guy who taught the drivers’ ed class in Ithaca, NY was right – we get our drivers licenses for the FREEDOM that being able to drive a car gives us. I wish I had that same level of freedom now. I’m glad I took advantage while I could.