Julian D’Souza

DRIVE -- INSPIRED BY LIFE

RESTING MY HEAD AGAINST the cool glass of the window pane, I watch the landscape before me fly past at some one hundred and thirty kilometers an hour. Preoccupied by anxious thoughts of the future, I hardly notice the trivial chatter of the car radio or the dull hum of the engine. Tiring of the never-ending farm fields, I instead begin observing my father, calmly steering the speeding car through light traffic with a practiced expertise I’ve come to appreciate. He stares forward, gripping the leather-covered steering wheel in one hand, the other resting on the gear shifter, his face an expressionless mask. As his eyes scan the horizon for speed traps and police cruisers alike, he finally notices my gaze. “Your report card came today,” he says, snapping me from my distracted stare. His tone shows neither pleasure nor displeasure.

“And?” I question, my anxiety growing as the gravity of the statement settles into my mind.

“It doesn’t look good. How are you going to get into a good university when you can barely pass math?” he asks, his voice finally beginning to show some emotion.

I shift my gaze back to the passing landscape, unsure of how to answer his question. A fleeting glimpse of a gas station catches my attention. To most people, it would be nothing special, run down and old, a faded sign at the highway exit advertising fireworks, earthworms and cigarettes within. An old man sits in a sagging lawn chair, smoking a corn cob pipe at the front door of the store, his presence as permanent of a fixture as the gas pumps themselves. I remember when we used to stop here for lunch, my father and I. We would order fish and chips every time, sharing the meal at a wooden picnic bench overlooking the highway. I was more carefree then, concerned only with the eighteen-wheelers and dump trucks passing by.

We would talk, me babbling away about my opinions on the passing traffic, he occasionally interjecting with a small portion of what was a seemingly infinite wisdom. Once we had finished our meal, he would treat me to ice cream, the highlight of our stop. Then we would load back into the car and continue on our journey.

I missed the simplicity of my youth, carefree and unconcerned about the future. I missed the ease with which I lived my life. Most of all, I missed the bond my father and I had shared.