We've travelled so far, there can be no turning back. Well, there can, but that would feel really shitty. Extremities aside, the attitude has got to be: no matter how many punctures, breakdowns, false dawns or whatever elses present themselves, we're not quitting this journey.
I'm not driving - which is unusual. Often, I enjoy driving - the motion, the choice words from the radio, a degree of peace. But right now, I'm not driving. Well, I kind of am - but in a sort of reaching across from the passenger's seat sort of way - and maybe not so much driving, as keeping us on the road. On-rushing trucks.
For the past few months, next Monday was the date that we were to get to Philadelphia.
Was the date.
It seems that the journey is to continue. Whilst we can't say exactly how far we've still to travel, my guess is that we're still a distance from the interstate line. We're low on gas, and the air conditioning is on the blink.We're all being stretched, moreso than this metaphor.
And so, as I dare to take my hands off the wheel, I look sideways for something that warrants this kind of single-mindedness. Dust whipping up, run-down factories, a broken-down long since forgotten car that was someone else's journey. Then I stop looking so hard, and what was right in front of me comes into sharpest focus again*.
So we push on, cos we've got to.
One dares to dream, cos one's got to.
Maybe.All without the pectorals, of course.
* The Boy and I had been playing Top Trumps (cars - bloody cars!) one evening, a week or so ago. His chirpiness was just what I needed. In the sound-bite, above, he finds much amusement in having dropped one of his cards and caught it between his toes.
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