Sunday, January 27

Extended Metaphor On Some Of The Women Who Have Entered My Life

IT’S PROBABLY AN Alfa Romeo Spider because that’s the car I’m looking at when I am thinking this.
The Spider is red, just like the one in The Graduate and it sparkles just as such under the sun. It weaves its way around the hills and the mountains, sparkling in the bright sun, with the top down. I don’t know what the radio is playing but it is something repetitive, something I can afford not to pay attention to. Yet all around me there is beauty; in the mossy outcrops upon the hills, the lake at the bottom, the blue in the sky where thin white clouds swim. There are other cars out on the road and sometimes when we pass one another we momentarily lift our hands up from the wheel to say hello. I hear the radio but I do not listen to it. I pay attention only to the road and to the surroundings. In this instance, I think the radio is playing a song from my childhood. I only know the lyrics to the chorus.
This is life.
In front of me is a great hill and the road bores through the hill.
Every driver who has ever travelled along this road thinks of the hill in front of him as he approaches it. It is a large hill and to look at the top of it is to look into the sun. Bushes, moss and small, scraggly trees grow upon the hill, yet the road goes right through it.
My Spider enters the hill. The road that I had trusted for so long lets go of me and sends me and my Spider into the hill.
I leave daylight behind.
Fine, let the hill have me.
The hill, you see, is a good girl.
Day and daylight are stripped away from me. I can no longer remember what the hills or the sky or the lake look like. Even the radio fades out until it is inaudible.
All around me is a rushing noise, an overwhelming rushing noise. The lights in the tunnel through the hill – perhaps uninteresting individually – become a flashing wonder. They roar at me like the wind roars at me. I am performing time travel in my Spider. I cannot remember a thing of the outside world. I am the hill’s now, and what if I told you I was in awe of the hill and of running through it? I cannot tell you why I am so happy to rush through this hill in my Alfa Romeo Spider with the top down, but it fills me with a joyous sense of wonder. My eyes had adjusted to the dark and I spot imperfections and, at the same time, pleasantries about the tunnel through the hill.
Then; there; a growing white spot.
And now I am back outside. The light of the sun upon the hills and the lake and the clouds blinds me and hurts my eyes so that I blink and my eyes water. The radio comes back in. The song is still going. I miss the rush of driving through the tunnel at 100 m.p.h. I miss everything that the tunnel gave me and, in a way, everything it took away from me.
Finally my eyes readjust.
There are many dead flies on the windscreen. There are many hills on this drive.

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