Illumination: the undergraduate journal of humanities: Spring 2006 (Spring 2006)
Previous section
county
road JJ
Tyler J. Falish
It was just an unpaved road about three miles from the first home I remember made up of
gravel and dirt and ditchweed with barely
two lanes spaced between the massive farmer fields, a creaky rope bridge between two
green seas.
The discouragement of my parents made those secret rides all the more sweet, feet
pressed hard against the pedals of my ten-speed
shifting gears like a Tour racer and feeling the wind and bugs and smell of manure
flow past my red cheeks.
Sixty-five in the back of the old black Blazer with a busted passenger window that
would've been opened anyway and nightfall acting as our natural cloak as we killed time on
the road we now knew by name with dangerous smoke filling our heads and disc one
of The
Wall on repeat because it sounded oh-so-good.
Cruising in the Regal handed down from Grandma with nowhere else to go but we had all
we needed to get by in thirty cans and a few
gas station cigars serving as entertainment for the evening.
Racing toward the sun and wishing I could fly but this was where I'd go when no other
place worked and it wasn't time to go home.
Drove down that road last month with a friend of who knows how long seeing two
bulldozers, orange cones and road signs with gravel
spitting from the rear wheels as my foot came down braking hard.
Our mouths hung open though nothing came out while an impromptu game of catch
ensued and every toss had something to say.
gravel and dirt and ditchweed with barely
two lanes spaced between the massive farmer fields, a creaky rope bridge between two
green seas.
The discouragement of my parents made those secret rides all the more sweet, feet
pressed hard against the pedals of my ten-speed
shifting gears like a Tour racer and feeling the wind and bugs and smell of manure
flow past my red cheeks.
Sixty-five in the back of the old black Blazer with a busted passenger window that
would've been opened anyway and nightfall acting as our natural cloak as we killed time on
the road we now knew by name with dangerous smoke filling our heads and disc one
of The
Wall on repeat because it sounded oh-so-good.
Cruising in the Regal handed down from Grandma with nowhere else to go but we had all
we needed to get by in thirty cans and a few
gas station cigars serving as entertainment for the evening.
Racing toward the sun and wishing I could fly but this was where I'd go when no other
place worked and it wasn't time to go home.
Drove down that road last month with a friend of who knows how long seeing two
bulldozers, orange cones and road signs with gravel
spitting from the rear wheels as my foot came down braking hard.
Our mouths hung open though nothing came out while an impromptu game of catch
ensued and every toss had something to say.
Allison Kirby
Double Maroon (left)
Three (right)
photography, drawing,
digital collage
Top of Page
This material may be protected by copyright law (Title 17, US Code)