"Oh Hannah, this one's nice. And it's a Toyota, great fuel milage, plus they run forever." My mother has always been very economical. "Oh yeah, it's fine." I replied. We left that cold parking lot full of shiny new 2015 cars with a lesser exciting, 2007 beat up silver Carolla. I had spent the better part of the past five years on various modes of public buses and trains, so there wasn't anything too exciting about a car. "It just needs to get you from Point A to Point B," my mother repeated.
And that's what a good car always does, gets you to Point B and back home again. In between, of course, was seedy and small parking garages of downtown Nashville where my car received her fair share of dings and bruises, but I couldn't care. But it wasn't until this trip, my first solo venture on the road, that I gave a shit about her. Was it because I was lonely? Was it because I was emotionally recognizing that this was the vessel that took me to Point B and beyond? At any rate, she became my companion on a trip that took me 1,377 aimless miles around Appalachia. I would come back to her, continuously getting in and out of the car for various overlooks, always eagerly returning to her to venture on to our next stop. She was my only comfort- not only the temperature control to battle the unwaivering temperature of the mountains outside, but she became a familiar face. We've been to eight states together now, and I'm looking forward to many, many more.
We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us. - John Muir
The mountains became a constant comfort to me. They greeted me with open arms. They had beckoned to me, yet I found myself surprised to see them as I turned corners. I drove along the crest in a blind sighted haze, struggling to believe that the surrounding scenery rolling out in front of me was real. Each mountain was different, yet somehow familiar, they became a friendly face as I drove along. Each curve brought a new scene, and a new face to meet. The mountains presence soon took the full state of my mind. When it was time to get off the parkway and I drove down to the bottom, I felt like I was unsafe, unsure of my surroundings. There is a peacefulness at 3,000 feet, that kept me happy, kept me curious, that kept me warm.
I suppose I missed home, but I didn't miss Nashville, but I missed the boy from Nashville. He was my annoying ghost companion of a solo road trip; I was always lonesome, yet he followed me everywhere. Although I made a hefty amount of mix CDs for the road, I found myself only listening to one: Once I was an Eagle by Laura Marling. Her album was one that I had listened to so many times before, but only resonated with me now. You weren’t my curse, she bellowed again and again. It’s like she had known all these years that our story would happen. She's the only person I feel understands my plethora of problems with my friendships and relationships and the life I have miserably built for myself.
I have succumbed the feeling that I now equate my whole existence in Nashville with him, and my only option now is to find a new home. The mountains are calling, and I must go.