Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Sunday
Feb102008

Riding Along In Their Automobile

The truck was at least three times the height of my car. A big whale of a truck swimming down the freeway. White, orange rust eating through the paint, tires taller than I am. It jounced along the fast lane, its sheer size increasing the effect of each bump, making the couple inside bobble up and down like kids on a school bus. I was right behind, traveling in my own car, waiting for the driver to notice me, change lanes and let me by, as Utah law stipulates. But something about the driver and his passenger caught my attention and I slowed down, wanting to remain behind them for as long as possible.

Although I only saw them from the back and then only from the neck up, I fell in love with them or what they represented anyway. Young. Love. Carefree. She was riding "bitch" as it's called when a guy's gal scoots to the center of the seat so as to ride next to her fella.

There was something about the way they both bounced to the characteristics of the road together. Looking ahead to their future, an endless freeway stretching in front of them, riding out all the bumps together.

I drove along behind them, taking in the big picture, until I had to blinker over and get off at my exit. Against habit, even as I pulled up alongside them before exiting I didn't look at them, didn't want to see their faces, find out what they look like. I just wanted to remember them from the back, bouncing and jouncing along, oblivous to most of the bumps, him looking straight ahead, her head slightly tilted his way as they contemplated the road before them.