white lines at 3 am

The entire state of washington is shrouded by a collection of low hanging clouds. My car, pushing 80 on the narrow strip of I-5 about 60 miles in, pounded through the haze that trapped scattered portions of light and made the trucks around me glow. I told myself i love driving at night, which is probably a truth i have learned, but never really got to experience. I'd like to think i love it, the road clear, the music blasting, my mind alive. But the 2 hours stretched on forever. I could not help picture myself in a scene from the Phantom Tollbooth every time the road took an upward turn. On occasion, and without warning, the open stretch of land is cut off as you enter a wall of evergreen trees. The noise of your wheels on the pavement is amplified as it bounces off the branches and back into your window, harmonizing surprisingly well with the lauryn hill song blasting from my speakers.

This night wasn't cold. I hung my arm out the open window and grabbed at portions of the hot, thick air. As time began to encroach on 3 o'clock, i felt my eyes grow weighted, from the speed and the music and the thickness of the air. Rest Area next right read a blue sign, Next Rest Area 50 miles. I flipped my blinker, for no one but myself to see, and slid off the fast-paced road. Only 4 other cars were dispersed throughout the parking lot, all fogged up from heavy breathing. I couldn't rest, i thought, not with only 60 miles of white lines left for me. A warm wind came through, and all at once lifted the fog that blanketed the cars, exposing a piercing night sky. Climbing on top of my car, i lay face up, trying to take in the heavens before they were tucked away behind the murk once again. Lights shifted around, moving in almost unnoticeable concentric circles, realligning immediately once they caught my attention. Truck after truck rode by, humming as they made their way through what i previously thought was my night. I wondered what they were thinking, listening to, taking in. I shared a connection with them that i could not fabricate at any other hour of the day, or with any other weather but these low, warm clouds. We all were trapped on this road, encased in the glow of our own lights, gauging our progress only by the passing highway markers and fleeting white lines.

I light my cigarette and look up, trying to phase out the sounds of my companion's lives sliding by and focus only on my breathing. Where was the little dipper? I spent half a year tormenting myself, trying to understand a beefy british man explain the universe to me and i couldn't even find the little dipper? The big one, well that i could always see. Or maybe i had been looking at the little one the entire time, and the big was simply too great of a concept for me to grasp. It's all relative i suppose. I exhale my last drag and let my body slide off the side of the car. I see the fog lingering 20 feet above my head, waiting to settle the moment i turn back onto the road. The bright green of my car clock glows 3:00, a time i have always been uncomfortable with. But never before have i felt that i was exactly where i should be, doing the only thing i could do. I turn the key to the right and hear the engine sputter to a start. Without hesitation the fog eases back in as i once again enter the world of the road. I share the next 60 miles with the road, the trucks, and the warm night air.