A pointless trip is the best kind. The kind where you just get in a car and drive. it does not matter where or why or how long you will be gone.
It is just you and the long road and gas station coffee. That is all my favorite trip was, really. It was a Saturday.
I remember because the weekend still seemed long and homework was the very last thing on my mind. My father turned to my mother and myself and said, ‘Let’s go for a drive.’ My mother gave a token protest about ironing and laundry, but was easily convinced to get in the car and let Dad drive. So we did.
We drove North for a while, then turned East. There was nothing to stop us, then. Except for the red lights, but even they did not bother me as much as they normally did.
The radio was turned off and kept off. We did not need it. The windows were all rolled down, and I was glad of the light jacket that only let in the barest trace of autumn chill.
The wind hummed through our car, and no one spoke. We did not need to. We took whatever roads seemed interesting, not particularly caring where they would lead us.
We would find our way home again. But now…we needed nothing but the sun and the sky and the scenery and the silence. Anything more would have been superfluous. Would have been a nuisance.
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