Nostalgia on the 57S

The hills to my left are covered in tall yellow wildflowers; the gloom and wind and yellow hills are free of worry, unlike the small and big and giant cars that trudge along that curve in the freeway every day. The cars look tired, like over-worked horses that day after day climb those hills. The people inside them could be young or old, but they are all looking forward and you can't really tell; but every now and then someone has a driver's side window rolled down, and you see a pink or brown or ensleeved elbow resting in the sun. At noon traffic is heavier than in the morning, a non-nonsensical equation waiting to be solved by traffic math geeks sitting in a cube. In the carpool lane, a white van with black windows drives slower than I wish to go, but I don't exit to pass because I like being in the far left where more and more you see the yellow stickers on the hippy cars. In the right line, small cars zoom from on ramps and proceed to cut off the slow giants in the second lane. The semis, the 18-wheelers, the flatbeds carrying tractors and pipes and crates let the small cars jump in front of them, like elephants indulging wild hares jumping around the their heavy feet. It is a cement jungle today on the 57S, and the daily migration is in full swing.

The people drive with their eyes forward. They make me sad. They make me want to think of happy things, and random memories pop up like fizz bubbles in mineral water, out of nowhere, out of inside.

I remember choreographing roller blading routines with Melissa when we were in 5th and 6th grades; we wanted to be the ice skating girls from the TV, and we got real good.

I remember college and Clockwork Orange on Friday nights even after we turned 21, and being able to dance in heels for hours but when we'd walk to the car my feet felt like they'd fall off.

I remember that first spring break with Marcello when I brought with me all my little skirts and platform shoes and it was too cold to wear any of it, but one night we listened to Sinatra for hours so it didn't matter anyway.

I remember when Nadine turned in "Malcolm in the Middle" and how giddy we were at her witty title, and how I made it through junior and senior year by using her laptop for all my all-nighters.

I remember driving to Santa Monica to my internship and going to lunch on the Promenade and thinking, this is the life.

I remember going to Romania and spending the hot summers driving around the country and singing along to silly pop songs with the windows down because he didn't have air conditioning.

I remember junior year and talking on my cell phone while sitting in the empty bathtub and the world felt so small and Nadine would come home and she would understand why I was sitting in that tiny tub with my jeans on and the cell phone running out of battery.

I remember thinking that life was going to be so much better when we graduated and life began and I can't remember why.

I remember moving to Hollywood and trying so hard to hold on to something because I couldn't face failing at one more thing that year.

I remember when in senior in high school a friend told me no one ever "feels" like an adult and how I didn't believe him until this year.

I think of the people on the 57S and wonder where they are all going and what some of them are thinking about, what memories bubble to the surface while they drive behind a Sentra with a smashed tail-light and an Oregon license plate. I wonder how many notice the yellow wildflowers that cover the hills. The wind makes waves among them, and the hill is a rolling yellow and green sea to the left and the right of the black cement scar that runs through it. In front of my I see the San Bernardino mountains, and one lone peak still shows a trace of white. I must exit the carpool to remain on the 57 and soon the 10 divides away; I am almost at school, and Brad Paisley is singing and brings me back to the moment at hand. The nostalgia is over and an aching for the near future takes over.

Like Billy Pilgrim, I have become unstuck in time today, as the past and the future bounce against one another and I don't know if when I get out of the car and put my feet on the ground I will be in the present. But I am, because parking was a pain and I hope I don't get a ticket parking in the staff lot, and I think that book was supposed to come today. I don't know where the past went and I don't have time to think about the future just now.