Fifth Gear

Through the sideways snow, the looping traffic of Chicago and the stinking cities of Indiana, the frozen white Ohio farmlands, and the rolling foothills of Pennsylvania, I could feel the miles spread out between me and home. As we wove into and out of tiny cities made of ashes, Dylan, Blind Melon, The Brothers Avett and our favorite Cult of Clouds mingled with our best belting karaoke voices. There were stretches on I-80 where we made plans in silence, knowing that the crumbs would fall wherever they damn well pleased: in the cracks of the seats, inside the seat belt slot, within the fibers of the carpet - and we'd find them eventually if we needed to. Tossing pennies in the tolls and flicking off slip-sliding semis, chugging coffee and cursing the New Jersey Turnpike's ghostly curves, we made it through the well-marked Manhattan streets, over the Brooklyn Bridge, down Court Street. As the blinker ticked to the left onto Butler Street, I began to breathe again.

Between the brain-busting trivia of which pop band was originally from Gary, Indiana, the ever-popular "who can spot the most states on the license plates" game, and the name-that-author ABC game, I stared out the side-view mirror, watching Christmas memories float out in the exhaust.

I hugged more people than I had planned on hugging, and ate more gyros than I would ever have imagined eating. I played a good amount of Rockband, and watched the Packers with a new found zeal. I felt my nephew slide like a fish beneath my hand, beneath skin, warm and waiting for January 27, and dove into his drawer full of tiny clothes with monkey feet and into his crib full of caterpillars and soft blankets. I experienced the difference between HDTV and regular TV and realized that its all TV to me. I had a hearty dose of Madisonalgia, ate at new restaurants and drank at old bars. I noticed cracks in the lettering in my Wisconsin t-shirts, cracks that narrated the years between me and college. Somehow I found myself at a swim meet in Homestead, smelling the sweet and sour smells of high school lunches and flirtatious hallways. I watched as gifts were showered upon one of my best friends, and under the blanket of wrapping paper and ribbon, my Mequon kindreds and I felt due pangs of pride in knowing we'd be standing next to her come October. We found others from our circle and danced harder than any prom, homecoming, or sadie hawkins combined. I looked into the face of a far-away love, cried tears drenched in hello and goodbye, cheeks red and breath held, we closed the swinging door, hopefully for the best. I sat by the fire on Christmas eve as my dad handed my brother a certificate of ownership of a company - and as they shook hands we all felt like we were on the top of the trees. I cushioned awkwardness with whiskey and found myself lost on a scarfless journey for a time - one that Karma would punish me for but I'll punish it right back soon enough. I played poker for high stakes with the big boys, and wrestled with the best presidentially named dog in the world. I travelled back in time to a cabin in Rhinelander, where it was just us girls, where we dipped our feet into the water while the rainbow trout nipped at our toes, where our chanting made the motor run, where we wrapped ourselves in songs and affection for one another, where our mothers giggled on the moonlit porch, where we will return someday.

I watched as these memories escaped behind the speeding Nissan, and then finally faced forward: making new years resolutions to say less, to stop worrying, and to stop cussing. I put it into fifth gear, and smiled at the decade ahead.