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February 2006 - Article 3
“LAST CALL TO THE FAMILIAR”
by Jessica Kuzmier Driving away on the initial steps of a trip tend to be a strange mixture of emotion for me. Those beginning moments would be filled with expectation of the trip ahead, but also free-floating anxiety. Did we have everything we need? What else had we forgotten? What kind of weather would we run into? There was also a strange sense of almost denial, like, we really weren't driving around the country, were we? We'd been planning for the trip now for almost six months, and now it was actually happening. There was a strange feeling as we drove past familiar landmarks that normally we ignored or saw right through. I don't know if it was some sort of weird fatalism that I was feeling, a sense that on embarking on a trip fraught with the unknown, I could be seeing things for the last time. I seemed to notice everything, the favorite steak restaurant that copied the more famous chain with its coconut shrimp, the diner that we hung out on Friday nights after outings with friends, even the industrial parks with their logos and billboards. Everything seemed to get a visual snapshot from me, so much that I wasn't even aware of the sensory overload until my attention was shaken by my husband braking to go from one highway to the next. I realized what I had just experienced, feeling that I just had a somewhat melodramatic encounter with life. But maybe this experience wasn't as strange as I made it out to be, nor as silly as my rational mind insisted. After all, I was on this trip to experience things. Why not start with what I already knew? Maybe noticing everything everyday and familiar was a good thing. Maybe the problem had been that I didn't notice. It was like I'd prided myself on ignoring my own life, and now I was learning differently. We drove forward, making our way from the Long Island Expressway to the Cross Island Parkway. The traffic was thick, but it coasted along without stopping. The moving scenery was like thumbing through stack of pictures while getting a good look at each one. Along Cross Island Parkway, there was a paved trail. Joggers, walkers, and other outdoor enthusiasts took advantage of it, defying the premise that there was nothing but concrete in the city. You could walk and pretend that you weren't in New York for just awhile. There was the view of the bay, which had the usual upscale homes dotting the far end of the shore. On the other side lurked the city life, many times hidden behind trees. It seemed like a peaceful nature drive. The only thing that destroyed the fantasy was the traffic thronging its way in between the two. The traffic was something that you get used to, something that you realize that comes with the territory and ignore. Except, with my newly attuned antennae, I wasn't missing much, and saw the contrast. I never walked along the trail, and thought that one day it would be nice to do so. I had other plans for now. It wasn't terribly long before we crossed the Throgs Neck Bridge to make our way to the Bronx. Officially, Long Island was behind us, though to those who lived in Queens, we'd left it once we reached the Cross Island Parkway. We had family here in the Bronx, and made the trip often. For a few moments, my mind reverted to routine and thought we'd be turning off the highway soon. Reminding myself of reality was a kind of jolt, a shot of adrenaline: the familiar was not what this trip was about. Driving past one landmark past another reinforced this reality. Past where we'd spent Thanksgivings, past where we spent days and afternoons, past where I'd hung out with a college friend many summers ago, we made our way to the George Washington Bridge. A small traffic jam acted as a final pause before we made the thrust into the journey. Goodbye, bottlenecks. Goodbye, malls. Goodbye home. There was a last look back at New York as we drove over the bridge, and it was goodbye. It was hello to a whole new way of thinking, officially, and where it really counted, in my mind. |