What Do I Hear When I Say I Hear the Call of the Road?
Author: Frannyglass
My friend Emily invited me to her ex-boyfriend Matt's wedding in Savannah, Georgia. I decided I would go, mainly because I wanted to take a road trip. I started planning the trip while at my apartment. My roommate Laura wanted to go with me, but I told her that this was "a trip I need to take alone." You know, that Big Philosophical Journey type of thing.
I didn't know the route to Savannah. I kept imagining having to drive through Atlanta and taking the wrong exit off the downtown connector. And then I imagined driving on an open road in the middle Georgia countryside, and I knew I couldn't not take the trip just because I didn't know how to get to Savannah. I consulted Laura for help. She said I needed to take "Highway 57" to get there. Highway 57 was apparently a very secret highway, however, as it didn't appear on any map. She kept going over maps with me in the living room of our apartment, trying to show me where Highway 57 was. I was sure I was going to get lost, though, so I decided I'd find another route to Savannah.
I went to my parents' house to pack for the trip. As I was sitting on my bedroom floor with my black duffle bag open, my mom appeared in my doorway. She asked where I was going. I decided that telling them about the trip would ruin its rite-of-passage qualities.
"I'm going to spend a few nights at Emily's house," I said to my mom. "Don't call over there. I'll be fine."
In my mind, I kept seeing the road: my car was the only one on a country highway at sunset. I figured I might just skip the wedding and spend my time in Savannah window shopping and discovering what it felt like to be completely on my own.
Emily called to tell me that she had reserved a room for me at Savannah's Holiday Inn. I said that was great, and that it would be even better if I had a way to get to the Holiday Inn.
Graceless transition. The next thing I knew, I was standing on the front steps of my old high school. It was dark, and I was reminded of a day in early winter of my Very Depressing Junior Year when my mom had been late picking me up from a club meeting. I sat on the steps and cried that day. In the dream, though, I was just standing on the steps and staring off into the distance.
Suddenly, a fifteen-passenger Ford van pulled up. The right-side door opened, and the driver spoke to me.
"I'm here to take you to the Holiday Inn," she said. She was a middle-aged black woman, wearing what looked like a pilot's uniform.
"The one in Savannah?" I said.
She nodded. I hopped into the front passenger seat of the van. When I first got in, there looked to be no one else riding with me. After a minute, though, I turned around and saw my former boyfriend Chris sitting on one of the bench seats in the back.
"What are you doing here?" I said.
"Just along for the ride," Chris said.
"But this is supposed to be my trip!" I said. I turned back around and switched on the radio. That annoyingly catchy Uncle Cracker song was playing. I adjusted the volume, turned around in my seat again, and sang the chorus to Chris:
Follow me, everything is all right.
I'll be the one to tuck you in at night.
And if you want to leave, I can guarantee
You won't find nobody else like me.
He didn't seem to get that I meant it: he wouldn't find anybody else like me. I turned back around in my seat and watched the driver round the curves of an unfamiliar road. We looked to be on a mountain at that point, and there were metal guard rails and yellow "caution" signs all along the road. I trusted that she knew the way to Savannah, though I still wasn't sure if I was ever going to make it there. The driver said it would be another twelve hours or so before we reached Savannah. She said she was going by way of Baltimore.
For some reason, I didn't tell her that we were already in the same state as Savannah and didn't need to travel up the east coast. The dream ended as I was somehow looking down upon the van as it traveled over a bridge in Baltimore. It was a very modern looking bridge, designed in the same style as the Baltimore aquarium. I was narrating the end of the dream, as though it was a flashback in a TV show. I was trying to say something very profound about the value of the journey over the destination, but it didn't come out right and so I just yammered on about how stupid it was that we were going through Baltimore to get to Savannah.
