Outside the Toledo Zoo in Toledo, Ohio, runs a divided four lane county road that runs north and south through the city. A clean strip of bright green, manicured lawn separates the opposite lanes of speeding traffic. I wonder, as it blurs past my passenger seat window, who mows this lawn. Who risks their life driving their lawn machine through traffic in order to beautify the natural weeds of this median? Wouldn’t it be easier to let the dandelions grow sporadically through the blades of grass? Wouldn’t it be simpler to let nature grow naturally? Every few seconds we rush past a tall tree whose growth is stunted by the surrounding concrete. How long before the invasive roots tear up our smooth byway? Sighing, I let my body relax against my seat. The sport seat grabs my body and hugs my curves like the lap of a familiar relative. The speed pushes me back against it, nurturing the already intimate relationship. Human and tapesty could get no closer. I have spent many day in my fathers car, in this very seat. No other sibling of mine rides with our father like we have ridden together. We favor a comfortable silence together, lost in our thoughts, rarely mingling them together. I wonder now what thoughts crossed his path as he switched gears, putting another mile behind us and another mile ahead of us.
I remember when he first bought this car, his pride and joy of a difficult era of life. It’s a 1983 Volkswagen Rabbit GTI, and I will remember it for the rest of my life as a symbol of freedom. We escaped the house in the early morning while darkness still covered the sky. Our whispers and steaming cups of hot liquids wafted visibly in the air as we set out in the family mini van across the country roads. We rode the hills and back roads of Ohio and found our way to the opposite corner of Indiana. We kicked up dust and gravel, trading civilization for overgrown forests and crumbling roadside barns. Near the afternoon we found the car, parked between an empty lot and a white shotgun two-story house. A rented trailer towed the vehicle behind us on the quiet ride back home to Ohio before the sun could set behind us.
We buffed and rubbed the old car, making up for years of weathered neglect. Our elbows ached from the endless repetition of spirals and circles that rubbed in the wax and polish. Long after the sun was high in the clouds and the grass dry from the morning dew, the true colors began to show. We saw the shine of 25 year old paint showing through ages of dirt and road grime, and we were satisfied.
It still gleamed today as we were heading south, our backs away from the city. We were coming from somewhere, heading toward nowhere, our heads lost in the clouds. My dad’s freckled face lifted from the tips of his lips as he announced the White Rabbit in 10th place. He shifted gears as we slipped passed a mini van, packed with sleeping children worn from a day at the Zoo. He shifted lanes in front of the van and lowered gears to pick up speed. We approached the rear of a modern sedan, edged passed them and announced the White Rabbit gaining momentum, now in 8th place. I turned my head away from the other cars and sneaked a look at my father’s face. His grin was contagious and my own hereditary freckles began to crinkle above my smile. We raced together, in and out of the traffic of County Road 25. We bumped elbows with the happy, and grinned at the hopeless. We edged our way towards first place in a nonexistence race toward nowhere. We laughed for no reason and were happy without cause. Another car behind us, we were closer to winning. I imagined what could be waiting for us in the winner’s circle. We imagined root beer floats and rental movies. He made a game out of nothing, and we cruised passed another cluster of cars. We had both lost count of our current place in the race, and instead declared ourselves the winners. We cheered and laughed and I stuck my tongue out at all the cars behind us. The other eyes staring back at me were empty and worn from years of their own personal trials. For once, we were not apart of the rest of the race, we were on our own track, our own race, our own inner harmony.
Today time and life stood still, even as we raced with traffic. There was no divorce lingering over our heads, meaning entirely different things to the both of us. There was no longer a concept of joint custody, alimony, unpaid credit cards or grocery bills. There was no longer a separate apartment, split siblings or ’somebody’s favorite’. It was just him and I, the tapestry pressed against our backs and the familiar hug of racing seats.
