I touched the accelerator, easing left and flying past the car in front of me. The music was comfortable, loud and vibrant, yet not so much so that my ears started to complain. The car seems to enjoy it, being driven. It hugs curves like it knows that I’m pushing it faster; it likes the unspoken need to compete. As I enter Denver, driving past Mile High, the highway makes its beautiful curves and I speed up. Going the speed limit or just above, enough to avoid the police presence I so dread has been too easy for the car. I nosed it above 90 right oustide of Ft. Collins, not daring to hit 91. I slowed, letting the car ride along on the windy road at the speed limit, no, two miles above. 77 set the pace for the drive. I felt at peace then, Denver surrounding me, the mobile public around me. The traffic flow didn’t slow, but the volume increased, and I found myself surrounded by them too. I was at peace, then, for the first time in too long. I breathed a sigh, in the one place I can call my own. When I got home, I pulled into my little parking spot in front of the house, marked out of the snow. I stayed there for a few minutes, listening to the music and just sitting. I am comfortable there. The car knows that.
I play my iPod on shuffle. It’s a recent development. I used to just let it play the songs I knew, but lately I’ve been realizing that there’s never too much time for anything, not even music. Let it play. You’ll be surprised.
Also, have you checked your karma lately? Make sure you’re on the good side of the world. A woman approached me last night as I sat in the car. She asked me in jest if she could have my hat, but I told her it was my boyfriend’s and I think he might be a little upset if I just ran off and gave it away. She told me she wasn’t going to rob me, and I laughed. “I’ve already been robbed,” I told her. She told me to buy a gun and I laughed again, telling her I am against guns in all forms. Wouldn’t war be less prevalent if we had to face the people we’re about to cut down in the name of freedom? She told me she was trying to get seven dollars so a woman would watch her child. I smiled, “I’m just as poor as you are,” I said, handing her a dollar. She told me I had a nice car, and I smiled. I do.
Everyone says, “They’ll just spend it on drugs.” So what if they do? What would you spend it on? It’s a dollar. Whether or not you need it more than they do, and sometimes, trust me, I am pretty sure I need it more. But, here’s the thing…They always say that what goes around comes around, and on the off chance that might be true, I want something good to come my way. Isn’t that why you believe in God? On the off chance he’s real? (My point is not that you should buy drugs with your money, it’s that you would throw it somewhere else. Also, that was not an attack on religion by any means. I sometimes wonder if I’ll be more religious someday.)
On July 7, 2007 Danny and I went dancing. It was the first night we ever held hands. That night, wearing a new dress, I went out, stopping at the gas station first. A woman there told me I was beautiful. I was, that night. She seemed ashamed, but that may have been an act, I’m not sure. She asked me for money, and feeling generous, I gave her all the cash I had on me, seven dollars. Now, you ask, what’s the significance of that? Seven, on 7/7/07. Karma. Luck. Whatever. That night I got what I had wanted since the summer began. I held his hand.
Today was the 3rd day I’ve owned my car. I hit 33,333 forty miles before I arrived home. That has nothing to do with sevens. I’m just making sure you know where your karma stands.
Also, P.S. I Love You is a great movie. I cried buckets.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized by kb. Bookmark the permalink.

About kb

free spirit, lover of red wine, bacon, sushi, the ocean, and adventure. I work in the legal field, do freelance writing, and take care of children.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s