I watched him drive away, inconspicuous of where he was headed or why. Did I really need to know? Did I really want to know? No, I remember thinking, No, I don't care. I don't care at all.
I remember riding along with him on those late nights to the city. We drove past the suburbs, the parking lots, the traffic lights. He just drove, headed nowhere. Sometimes he would stop, only for a moment, and then just as quickly, he would drive away. We never stayed anywhere for too long, afraid that we would become attached. We never did a lot of things. We never waited for the green light, the stop sign, the beautiful view, the gas gage. He just drove.
Lately, he has been driving on the same streets, the same turns. I don't know why he keeps driving through here. The view is just as it was before, perhaps even more faded. Yet still, he drives us here and then keeps driving, never stopping. I often wonder why. However, I am starting to learn that there are some answers I guess I should never know. But still, I wonder.
He leaves me with no answers. Not one word is ever uttered during our late night journeys. Though I cannot blame him, words often complicate things and I already know what he is trying to say. Him knowing that I know leaves us silent yet not without hope, just lost in thought.
Over the nights, I remember; the neon air blurred my vision, the scent of rubber burned my nostrils, the constant leather grip numbed my fingertips. Still, the speed, such an exhilarating high. He was known for it. I knew him for it.
He still sits here, in this very chair, driving away from here, from the traffic lights, from the one thing he can never leave behind.
So, I told him, "Take your fast car and keep on driving."