maps

lately, all i do is drive. to and from, back and forth and back again, and then home, sometimes. but it’s just a house with an empty bed, and that doesn’t impress me much.
driving at night is a new therapy. after i drop the last  friend at their curb, watch them stumble tiredly to their door because i’ve kept them up too late, not realizing that my love for these late hours is a little greater than theirs, that they like sleeping, even alone, while here i am, avoiding it at all costs. i pull away slowly, watching the road for the cats that always seem to run for the tires on these residential streets. they gather under trees and cars, their lazy eyes red in the headlights. sometimes their authoritative look and some silly superstition is enough to prompt me to lift one hand to my forehead in a half-hearted salute.
i turn the radio up and take the long way back, singing along. maybe quietly at first, unsure of my voice reverberating in the air between the windows i’ve forgotten to roll down, even though the air outside is humid and clings to my skin like drops of water. i open my mouth a little wider, and the words come pouring off my tongue like i own them. i roll the windows down and let one arm hang out, admiring my browned skin under every streetlight.
i pass the lit up mini-mart, the gas station, the dark of the houses gone to bed. the clock on my dash glows 3:46, and the tape in the player has a whole other side to go, so i turn around in a driveway, my headlights upsetting a raccoon rooting through a trash can. i go back the way i came, glancing at the empty seat next to me and wishing a little that someone was here. you, mostly, but anyone would do at times like this.
really, all i do is drive these days.