Warm air slapped my face. I should’ve been mad but all I could do was smile. Balmy summer air hammered through the opened car windows, and the comfort of the night warmed the passenger seat. Even in the darkness when the road was only visible through hazy orange street lights, I felt a buzzing freedom. Although the roads were emptied in the lateness of the night, I wasn’t alone.
Stationed behind the wheel sat my older sister. She was the one who invited me along, the one who chose the music that pulsed through the car, the one who rolled down the windows in the blackness of the night. The car sped forward under her hands, leaving everything behind us. Leaving the stress of school, the uncertainty of the future, and those dull aches in your stomach tumbling on the empty road far away.
Those nights should’ve been quiet, but the pulsing bass of the music scarred away any sense of peace. Yet, I’ve never been more calm. Even my thoughts couldn’t be heard above the flood of music that hit us like waves with every beat. That familiar sense of anticipation sparked my body when our favorite song began.
We had fallen into the familiar harmony, one hand out the window the other either on the wheel or trying to interpret the beat into a one-handed dance. I didn’t even realize I was singing at the top of my lungs until my throat grew sore and red. The familiar lyrics trickled out the open windows and into the air, affecting no one but ourselves.
Racing down empty roads and twisting through the turns, the indescribable feeling of freedom and exhilaration caught in my throat. Even when the car slowed we continued speeding forward. And when the music paused or the volume lowered, the car still filled with noise and an abundance of laughter. Under the moon’s watchful gaze we shared our deepest secrets, under the stars flickering we confessed our foolish doings. No one could hear us, we were completely alone, our minds each other and our hearts our own.
Even when we pulled into the driveway after those fateful nights, I knew we’d have another and never dared to worry or ponder if that was the last time we drove together. And as time marched on and time trickled down, a sense of fear snuck into my heart. When she left, which was inevitable, who would sit beside me? Who would harmonize offbeat while cranking the volume, who would listen without laughter as I described my anger, and who would giggle beside me as we talked about that certain person who was always on our nerves?
Even as those questions pounded through my head, a little sense of solace canceled out my dread. Even miles and miles away, I don’t truly believe our late-night drives are over. Yes, they’d be sparse and we’d have to talk over the phone, but she’d still be there no matter how far. And even now when I drive without her and see the hazy orange lights illuminate the balmy summer air, I can’t help but laugh and feel her there.
