It Was Still Winter

I rented my first car at nineteen. Six years years early because of a pandemic sending everyone fleeing, including me and the boy next to me; William—shaved head, rich eyes, toxic smile. He was coming home with me to North Carolina, so we could quarantine before he drove sixteen hours to his home in the middle of the country. In the (almost) two years that I’ve lived in Boston I have never driven in the city before, but I did that morning, and it frightened me. I am used to small streets and timid drivers. I knew the route from the airport well. It's just that I was usually in the back seat, and it wasn’t ever when the sun was rising. 

We pulled up in front of the dorms and began packing the car up. William is strategic and likes things symmetrical. I don’t care about that, so I let him organize. We put his wooden sailboat and my dried yellow flowers on the dash and got on the road. We left at 8am, the light still fuzzy and the air clear. The backpack by my feet held chocolate almonds, clementines, and maybe some pringles. 

It was winter in Boston and spring in North Carolina.

William drove first. It felt weird. Also, he’s not a good driver. He is confident, but I get nervous that he isn’t in his lane, although he does have a better track record than me—I scraped a parked car once. It didn’t feel like a road trip, less because of the weird circumstances and more because we didn’t have an aux cord to play music. An hour and half in we caved to stop for coffee and an aux, and the energy changed. I spent $9 on the cord and it was well worth it just for those fourteen hours. It’s amazing what some caffeine and music can do to you. 

It was still winter as we passed through Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New York. I asked him what he loved about himself. He said his patience and ability to understand people. He is a good teacher and mentor. He is eager to share his passion with others. I love that too. I said my ability to stay true to myself (oof that sounds cheesy). But, I think that through many different circumstances and being surrounded by very different people, I remain me, whoever that may feel like at the moment. 

We took turns placing our hands on each other’s knees like high schoolers and sometimes he would grab my hand and pull it to his mouth to kiss my knuckles. When it was my turn to drive  he slept most of the time (unfair), so I listened to the same album on repeat. I can’t quite remember if it was one by Young the Giant or Jack Stauber, maybe Rainbow Kitten Surprise—something that I loved, but still didn’t want to listen to for hours on end. I realized once we stopped that I hadn’t looked at him in a while and it made me smile to see his eyes. 

We made some other stops—a dingy subway next to a spa, gas a few times, Mcdonald’s to pee. I watched leaves become more apparent as we drove south. We passed massive stretches of farmland that reminded me of childhood roadtrips. It was gross and cloudy most of the day and on that last stretch from around 9pm to 11pm it was dark and pouring. We listened to rap music. I don’t listen to a lot of rap, but that is mostly what William listens to. All we had was us and some music, so we listened to it slowly and he told me stories behind the songs, or brought attention to little details I wouldn’t necessarily have noticed, but details that made me enjoy it more. 

We got home around 11pm, at least I think. My mom was happy to hug us in the driveway and my legs were happy to be on stable ground for the foreseeable future. I really can’t remember what we ate when we got home. I think it may have been pasta with homemade sauce, something good and warm and filling. We ate lots and showered. The thing I remember most clearly was sliding into my chilly sheets and meeting him in the middle where we cuddled up dead tired, but happy and clean (finally) and fell asleep. 

It’s been over a month now since we left our lively little city, although it probably doesn’t feel too lively now, and I miss it dearly. I dream about smiling at my friends sitting across from me on the T and impulsive gatherings at our favorite Thai place. 

I am not sure when I will see William next and I know I won’t see my friends until September, if that. It’s scary and lonely and unnerving and disappointing, but I still feel their energy. We are all in this. We are literally all experiencing this same thing in some way. No one is unaffected. 

My sister aches for a graduation, stomachs beg to be fed more, parents give kisses instead of gifts on birthdays, and jobs are clung to. They are not all equal by any means but they are all felt, and I think there is a whole lot of beauty to be found in that universal pain. Maybe that is morbid, but it feels empowering to know there is a shared source, one that will eventually be demolished by all of us struggling now. I am letting myself feel those frustrations when they come, but it is hard to be mad when I have all my loved ones safe and healthy, when I have food on the table, a roof over my head, and the ability to feel the evening breeze run through me. 

I will not have William by my side nor my friends across from me, but they are here and that is enough. There is a universal solidarity that we all understand. So in the meantime I am holding onto those fifteen hours in a rental car with William and the hope of future hugs and stupidly shared shots and taking trains and rooms full of laughter.