My best friend and I recently traveled by car to New York City. She assured me ahead of time she would do the city driving; I would do the interstate driving. My mind raced backward in time, back to high school, back to terror.
I was remembering a night in high school, the late 70’s, her mother’s Mercury Marquis, full of teenagers. She was driving out to Roaring Run State Park late one night. I can’t remember the reason for this “joy” ride. The road was one lane, cliff side, gravel mostly; she weaved side to side as she boasted the existence of a car phone to a front seat passenger that did not in fact exist. Did I mention that she and I were perfectly sober?
I sat in the back seat, arms crossed in complete distress. My knees were pulled up tightly, touching the seat. I wasn’t in the fetal position: that wouldn’t allow me enough flexibility to jump super-hero like into the front seat and take over the driving if needed. I always thought my driving ability was superior to hers, that night confirmed it. Obviously we survived.
Last week arriving New York City at night, I resumed the same position. I let out little squeaks of terror until I saw the lights of the city. I then became dog like, window rolled down, hanging my head out, sniffing the air, getting a better view, occasionally checking the traffic ahead for potential problems. I was distracted by the beauty of a city I had only seen in media. I forgot my terror.
Leaving the city was a different story. Afternoon traffic brought us face to face with the dread yellow cab. My legs were again squeezed up so tight to the passenger seat I’m sure it shrunk in size. My arms crossed against my chest, I yelled obscenities that would make a Marine instructor blush. My friend joined me in the yelling contest, at the same time pointing out landmarks that we would come back and see on our next trip. I tried to quietly point out traffic jams ahead while she pointed out the swanky gym where New Yorkers worked out, SJP and the like. I yelled “Here comes a MOPED on your RIGHT!” She was so calm. I was terrorized.
She continued to fight the traffic; I continued to be amazed by her ability to hang in there with it; Dodging in and out of a sea of yellow metal, horns blaring, people appearing at the side of the car from nowhere. Had she been to yellow cab school? Had she been to the New York City Tour guide school? We escaped the city unscathed; don’t know if I can say that about the passenger seat. It may need a few more months to recover.
I do know this. I have two favorite Islands I like to explore: Topsail Island and now New York City. I want to go back to both. I can be packed and ready to go in 15 minutes. If you are driving, just make sure the passenger seat is sturdy so it can withstand the workout. Squeeze.
