one more troubled soul » petekey

One

"I'm restless.
Things are calling me away.
My hair is being pulled
by the stars again."
- Anaïs Nin

Pete was pushing ninety on the backroads, every single window down. The radio was blasting static, with an underscore of an old Whitesnake song. No matter, because Pete could only hear the roar of the wind anyway. That, and his own heart pounding in his ears. He left his phone in the backseat, not wanting to be distracted by tweets or texts or phone calls. The universe can wait, he thought. This is my time.

And so it was. After years of raising money for his road trip across America, it was finally happening. He had seen his neighbors do it in a week, but he wanted to take his time. He wanted to smell each and every single state, taste their beer and see their stars. He wanted to see places his friends had never seen, from infamous cities to hidden bike paths, where the trees had teenage lovers' initials carved into their bark. He wanted to press his fingers into those initials, feel the hope for everything it was. Pete was utterly romantic.

He was hopelessly in love with the idea of adventure, even though he had never experienced it until now. His head was filled with dreams of one night stays at run down hotels, and stargazing on the top of his truck. He would read cheesy adventure guides and fantasy novels, because he liked nothing more than to imagine places outside of southern Maine. In the end, it didn't matter if the next state had something as simple as a different name. He just wanted new. Perhaps even strange.

Along with open roads and different sunsets, Pete adored being a stranger. He wanted to be absolutely nothing to the people he sped by on highways, or biked by as they ate outside their favorite, hidden cafés. The anonymity was humbling. He was just another oxygen breather, just another customer or patient. He was nothing interesting, and with so many people trying to be unique, he thought he was succeeding the most. The irony was delicious.

Back at home, it seemed like he never got a chance to be alone. His parents made him keep the bedroom door open, and call him every few hours when he went out. But the kids around him were the worst. Dehydrated teenagers. His friends poked and prodded at him like doctors, needing constant attention and information. Everyone around him was in constant battle for suburban fame, and he was just another body for another party. A collector's item. A pawn. He wouldn't have minded that so much, if only it were that simple. But he was expected to interact and react, to make an effort in empty friendships.

Pete understood it all, of course. He once collected empty shells of people and used them as playing cards in his game of life. He experienced the addiction to attention, the constant need for another shot of assurance. But that was before he overdosed on it, and now all he wanted was to be alone.

Which is why as he drove south away from the attention whores of the middle class in his town, the passenger seat was home to a stack of journals, a few cameras and one folded map of America, marked red with X's; not a person. He was quite over people, in all honesty, over the fact that almost everyone he knew needed sweaty love and neon lights. He had his share of smokey nights and red, puffy eyes. Pete was hungry for fresh air and faces.

The song on the radio changed, and an airy, light voice sounded over the static. Pete was tired of people, especially their voices. He pushed on the gas, his heart and car going faster. The wind was vicious, clawing at his hair and his ears and his shirt. He nodded his head sharply, his sunglasses tumbling over his forehead and landing on the bridge of his nose. The world became a few shades darker.

He went on like that for a while, until he felt the adrenaline wearing off. He slowed down, tossing his sunglasses into the passenger seat. They landed as soon as thunder rang in the distance, and he exhaled heavily through his nose. "Shit," he mumbled, rolling up the windows. As soon as they closed, the wind stopped howling abruptly. More thunder rolled and no more music was heard over the static.