Freeways

source

Freeways, roads or ways which are literally free, free of traffic lights and of traffic per se, are only ever 'free' when the clock strikes and surpasses midnight. 

It is only after midnight that I can drive the entire way from my aunt's home to mine, consisting of a total of around twenty minutes, at the speed limit, one-hundred kilometres per hour, reaching my home in around ten minutes instead, taking me half the time it takes to normally commute there in hours before midnight, such as peak hour at six o'clock in the evening. At that time, I struggle to leave, or even put on cruise control without having somebody either cut into the lane in front of me and slow down, or have somebody so close to my rear bumper that they almost touch and connect to me, resulting in mine and their car looking like two linked carts on a train.

Tonight, the freeway was so vacant that I had arrived home in just under ten minutes, a time that would prove unachievable in the daytime. This surprised my mother, who, having received my text stating that I had left my aunt's house, had expected me to arrive at home in at least twenty-five minutes. This had caused her to accuse me of driving like it was a stolen Mustang, a Ferrari that has a minimum speed of one-hundred and twenty kilometres per hour, the Titanic before it stopped in attempt to avoid hitting the iceberg.

There is a certain form of serenity I feel driving on the freeway at nighttime. The soft lights, indicating barriers and lanes are ambient, and the settled roaring of the engine almost rocks me to sleep - that is to say that this serenity is not quite a good thing. This is the reason why I usually have loud music blaring, even if my head is at any given night about to implode from all of the mental strains I put it through. Having music turned up loud strains my mind even more, which in its negativity, leaves a tunnel for positive flow in that I am in this form of annoyance very alert to the point where my left hand keeps twitching in agony because though it twitches to turn the volume down, I control it to stay gripped to the wheel so that I and my hand arrive home safely, still attached to one another.

Arriving home in one piece is of importance, but becomes a challenge especially in instances where I watch scary movies at my aunt's house before returning home at late hours. The darkness becomes more darker, the silence becomes even more silent, and the backseat of my car, as unoccupied as it is, seems a little less unoccupied and more on the occupied scale of things, where the occupant is, like in a scary movie, unwelcome. Had I happened to have watched a scary movie before journeying on my way home, every frightening occurrence despite its level of relevance would play throughout my imagination. It would play on a loop, I would imagine things like a girl running out into the middle of the street, or my stereo releasing strange sounds. I would imagine seeing things in my rear-view mirror other than cars, and other terrifyingly unrealistic things like that. The ease of the freeway, though, challenges the time that imagination takes to produce these things.

But my imagination remains at ease, and at full speed, for when I arrive home, having not at all scared me in any of its attempts, I have to fight it when unlocking the shop door in my too-quiet street, and when I have to lock the door after I enter, and when I have to walk through the shop with the lights off, and when I have to walk through my equally unlit kitchen. Then comes the bathroom mirror, which I will not delve into because of obvious reasons. In saying that, the freeway and its darkness and perfect atmosphere for my horrid imagination is most positively the least of my concerns.

Freeways, though, heading back towards my point, are quite convenient at later hours. If only they continue being this convenient through other hours of the day, especially when I am late to university or tutoring.