12:49 a.m.
Those girls from high school were so nuts, bragging about how much they stole from Abercrombie & Fitch. I still can’t believe it. Bananas!
Why am I thinking about Abercrombie & Fitch and those girls? Could that be more random.
Hahaha Chandler.
But coats and sweaters!? They’d steal huge hauls at a time, just bring it all into the dressing room and wear it all out! They must have figured out how to take the plastic security sensor off the clothes. I could never do that. I’d probably throw up in the dressing room in the middle of the theft, then I’d have to buy all the stuff I was trying to steal because I just threw up all over it. I wouldn’t be able to wear any of the items out because they’d be disgusting. I’d probably look sick, and maybe the manager of the store would feel bad for me and not make me pay. I’m terrible at talking to managers, especially of retail stores, especially when I was a teenager! I don’t even know what I’d do, bring the “tampered with” merchandise up to the register and try to explain? I’d have to act sick, like really sick. I guess if I threw up, I’d feel sick, but I’d have to amp it up. I could do that…But what if there are other customers up there, waiting to pay and they leave because some crazy girl is walking around with foul-smelling clothes?! Would I be responsible for the store losing even more business? And then there’s the dressing room! I think about some girl going in after me. Ohh, man. Good thing I never tried to steal clothes.
1:08 a.m.
I cannot get comfortable. No position feels right, fuck. Okay, just lie on your back and breathe through your mouth.
She told me that.
Right.
I couldn’t sleep one night, and she turned to me and said gently, “Lie on your back and breathe through your mouth.”
It kind of feels like she just said it, like she’s here with me.
1:13 a.m.
Stop!
Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop!
Why’d you have to think about her? Find something else to think about.
Think. Think. Think. Anything else.
The drive. Okay, right.
Ten-hour drive tomorrow. Today. Ten-hour drive today. It’ll be fine. I just want to try to make it to Austin before it gets too dark.
1:25 a.m.
Sleep. I will fall asleep…NOW!
Okay, just focus on your breath.
Lie on your back and breathe through your mouth.
I should try meditation. Everyone says that. TM. That’s what they all say to try. I did read the David Lynch book about TM. I should check it out tomorrow, the program everyone talks about. I’ll remember.
1:33 a.m.
It’s so weird to sleep in a random bed, in a city I’ve never been to before and one I’ll leave again tomorrow. I’ve had so many beds in different cities. Maybe if I shut my eyes and imagine myself in all my other beds it’ll be like counting sheep?
Okay, focus.
Close your eyes and think of your past beds.
Imagine being under the covers in all those other beds. This is good, this’ll work.
My childhood beds…
The pink and purple covers at my mom’s house, the cold bars of the trundle bed just next to me…
The metal Ikea bed frame with a denim blanket and T-shirt sheets at my dad’s house…
The beds at camp—the tiny cots with wire springs that would squeak when you sat on them…
The bed in my dorm room, with drawers built in, shoved into a corner next to the wall of concrete blocks…
My beds in Baltimore in my studio apartments, bundled with blankets when the heat wasn’t working…
My bed in Boston looking out windows onto Commonwealth Avenue, the bustle of cars passing by outside…
Friends’ beds…
Beds in my Astoria apartments…
Lovers’ beds…
My bed on MacDougal…
My bed on Hunts Lane…
Her bed—FUCK!
Jesus.
1:51 a.m.
Think of something else! Think of anything else…gas, gas! Yes, I have to get gas tomorrow on my way out of Memphis. Great. I’ll look it up when I wake up—where the closest gas station is. Ugh, what an idiot, pulling into the pump on the wrong side. I’ve done it like three times? It’s a good thing no one is with me to witness that. Why is it so hard for me to remember what side the gas tank is on!? I don’t drive all the time, it’s okay. Different cars have different sides. I should be easier on myself. At least I don’t use my cell phone while I pump gas. Is that even a real thing? Where did I hear about that? Is using your cell while pumping gas the worst thing you can do? I swear I heard that somewhere. There are so many “worst” things you can do.
2:03 a.m.
I’m chilly now—all extremities have to get under the covers.
…Where’s the pillow? Ohh there, just touching my leg a tiny bit.
That’s better.
2:15 a.m.
Ohh wow, this is a nice ceiling, what a unique texture. You don’t see that often.
MEMPHIS, TN → AUSTIN, TX
DRIVE TIME: 9h 54min
HOW TO DRIVE FOR TEN HOURS
Create the right car setup
The car has become your new apartment, and things need to have a spot in which they live, so you don’t drive yourself crazy (you’re already driving yourself ten hours!):
Lip gloss in center console
Water in cup holder (try to use a reusable water bottle or at least a reusable coffee mug!)
Phone in holder, suctioned to dashboard, charger in phone
Snacks in bag behind passenger seat (not too close)
Sunglasses and regular glasses in backpack on passenger seat
Sunscreen in center console
Baseball cap on passenger seat
Music and podcasts from various genres downloaded and ready for quick clicks
*Checklist for car setup does not actually exist on a piece of paper (I’m not that bad)
Let yourself sing
Even if you’re not a singer—which I’m not (though I truly believe if I took a few lessons it would be a different story)—singing in the car is one of the last pure joys we have as human beings. In New York apartments, singing straddles a fine line of humiliation. The walls are thin, and you risk being heard. Even though we hardly know our neighbors, and we’re comfortable with the brief, friendly encounters in the hallways or on the sidewalk, it’s hard to imagine bringing overheard singing into the mix. Cars are the last place we have, our final refuge for belting songs we have no business singing. Ten hours in a car means singing, I’m sorry, it’s the truth.
Don’t drink too much water, or coffee!
You have to pace yourself because, one, you don’t want to have to stop too often, and two, the lack of accessible public bathrooms becomes more and more of a problem the farther you drive into the middle of the country. As much as stopping in new towns and cities might seem fun when planning a road trip, actually stopping to use the restroom or find decent coffee in the middle of nowhere (especially off interstates) is…well…shitty. I hate any sort of small-scale confrontation, so I try to avoid having to ask to use the restroom if I’m not buying anything, but the sight of a Starbucks sign on the highway when I’ve had to pee for two hours completely obliterates any fear of confrontation. Starbucks might be more known for their bathrooms than their coffee.
Be prepared for rain
By prepared, I mean, know it will happen at some point and it will be torrential. Because you’re driving for so long, you’re bound to drive through rain. It will seem like it came out of nowhere, but in fact, it’s you who is coming out of nowhere, driving seventy miles an hour (on average) into the rain. But the rain actually isn’t the most dangerous part, it’s the other people driving in the rain. Some drivers just don’t know what to do with weather. That’s what the shoulders are for, to lean on if you can no longer operate your vehicle. Hold up, I don’t think that’s what road or highwa
y engineers were intending, but how adorable is that? Lean on the shoulders when you need them! They’re right there to pull off on if you have to catch your breath. The rain and the other people speeding through it can be intense, and your life might briefly flash before your eyes during one of these downpours. But you’ll make it through.
Stretching
It didn’t occur to me until this trip how my body would feel, sitting in the same position for so many hours at a time. I started putting a roll of paper towels and later a folded-up sweatshirt behind the small of my back to ease the strain. I found interesting ways to stretch my arms while driving and tried using my left foot to operate the car (not recommended) when my right foot would cramp up. In-car stretching is important and should be experimental, like all essential things are.
Jumping up and down
A lot of the smaller rest stops have outdoor areas with picnic tables and overhangs that provide a bit of shade. Hot tip: Bring a towel and free weights and do a quick calisthenics routine outside at these bad boys. I would do jumping jacks, quick reps with three-pound weights, push-ups, and sit-ups. When you’re sitting so long you have to get out and jump around for a bit. SELF MAGAZINE HERE I COME.
Bring hats
I’m not a huge hat person, other than a few styles I have in my rotation like any sophisticated grown woman does, but on the road, I stuck to these options:
Baseball cap. You want one of these for the sun. Yeah, you have the front shade in the car that pulls down in front of your face to block the sun, but it’ll still creep up on ya. You’ll want one of these handy.
Large-brim canvas hat. Cars are the best place to test out hats.
Be bold
The human race is pretty incredible. We’ve made gigantic leaps in science and technology, in innovation and connectivity. We’ve created astounding inventions that have changed the whole world. We have sewer systems and fly in the sky from place to place. We FaceTime and Skype like in The Jetsons! But when we put our turn signals on and move into the left lane, beginning the bold attempt to pass an eighteen-wheeler, we are truly glorious.
AUSTIN SHIRT TUCK
I made a deal with myself around the time I turned thirty, years before this last relationship, to try and live my life without needing anyone else. This was around the same time as the other deal (I love deals), the boldly asking people out situation. This deal didn’t necessarily negate that one—I’d continue to date and put myself out there, but I started to feel that maybe I shouldn’t really need anyone else to go after the big mile markers or experiences in life. Maybe I would do them on my own, and that would be all right. It wasn’t like a scheduled deal-making meetup (because it was just me), I didn’t type out a contract or anything, but there were extensive internal debates, wild objections, and negotiations were ongoing: “Should I buy an apartment on my own? I can actually afford to do it and it makes sense, investment-wise. But maybe I should wait until I’m with someone to create a home together?” “Is it weird to go to Nicaragua for Christmas by myself? Can I really travel alone over the holidays, what will people think?” “It’s Saturday night…Do I have to order two sodas so my takeout seems like it’s not just for me?” No! Enough of this ridiculousness! I shook my own hand and started the rest of my life with myself anew: I’ll go where I want to go, buy what I want with the money I’ve earned, order whatever takeout I want with disproportionate sodas, do and see what I yearn to experience in the world, even if it means I go alone. If I made those plans for myself without setting any expectation of there being someone beside me, then I could never be disappointed because I was making that choice! This new deal, very similar to Franklin D. Roosevelt’s (not similar in any way), had been my mission statement. And this road trip was a renegotiation—I’d veered off course for a while there, and now I was back on track! A single woman, unleashed upon the country—the wind in my hair! But, despite my best intentions, my best negotiation tactics and dealmaking expertise, I found myself in a Pinterest-perfect hotel room in Austin, Texas, not celebrating my independence, but rather still mourning my last relationship. As the T. Rex record I borrowed from the lobby ended (it actually hadn’t reached the end of the first side yet, but it’s more dramatic if I remember it happening simultaneously), I saw how falling in love had been a deviation from my plan. A lovely, soul-changing detour. I’d ripped up my deal and flung myself into the thing I feared most, someone else. This false armor I’d built around myself to need no one wasn’t working, it was only holding me back. I’d have to let it go.
I FaceTimed Ilana. I wanted her to see how beautifully the room was decorated. She was in a taxi, on her way to the airport, about to fly to Europe with her husband. A true vacation. They were so excited. She asked how it was going. I told her this trip was harder than I thought it would be, that I was starting to get sad again. She said, “But you wanted this, right?” I suppose I did. I created this, both the freedom and the loneliness. If we hadn’t been on a video chat, the drastic difference I felt in that moment between my life and hers would have shown on my face, but I waited until we hung up to let it fully hit me. I’d never want her to see my sadness in response to her happiness—I felt so proud of her and them. They were so present with each other, so in it, together. But she was right, this was my choice, to be alone on this trip, but at the same time what other choice did I have? I don’t have a husband or a wife to travel with. If I did, they would have stopped me from eating the entire dish of rosemary Marcona almonds the hotel set out for me! They would have told me I didn’t need to buy the fancy crème on display in the bathroom, and they would have surely applied sunscreen to my back before I went down to the pool! But there I was, not only single, but sunburnt and salty.
The next day, I had dinner plans with a friend, but the rest of my time I was free to wander. I browsed the stores on South Congress and read Sontag essays while I ate brunch at my favorite spot on the corner. I had breakfast there the last time I’d been in Austin, with her. I tried to push that out of my mind, to not jump back in time to the last lazy day I explored this neighborhood. I could create new experiences in the same place on my own. Things had changed since I’d been back—new restaurants opened, stores closed, and there seemed to be even more people now, bustling into the air-conditioned shops to get out of the heat. I walked along the sidewalk and caught a glimpse of myself in a store window. Over the past few months, I’d come to develop a sort of uniform. Maybe it was because it was one less thing to think about, but I’d taken to primarily wearing a long-sleeved shirt or a T-shirt, tucked into jeans. It was a really hot day in Austin, and I was wearing a T-shirt tucked into jean shorts (a new, summer addition to the uniform). I was so different now. I could see it in the reflection.
I realize people have probably been tucking in their shirts since shirts and pants existed, and I am in no way claiming it’s my discovery, but I’m stating boldly: In the textbook history of the “shirt tuck,” my experience should be noted, studied, and possibly given a pull quote.
I never tucked in my shirts. EVER. I grew up with an extremely stylish mom, who tucked in her shirts and wore cute belts when she did. It just worked on her. My dad tucked in his dress shirts for work every day, without a second thought. I mention my dad here to give equal airtime, but a men’s shirt tuck is very different, as I’m sure you know. There’s inherent blousing with a button-down, the suit jacket often covers so much. It’s a different beast. I’m sure men have a whole other set of insecurities surrounding business attire, how it is for them to tuck in their shirts, what ties are all about and how to keep them from dunking in stuff, etc. That’s not my story to tell. But I was around a lot of shirts, tucked into pants. This wasn’t new to me. I had been exposed from a young age, but even then, I never wanted anything to do with it. My stomach was chubby and I tended to wear baggy shirts or sweaters so as to not have to deal with feeling insecure about it. A bizarre optical lie I’d convinced myself of, that a loose piece of fabric, draping down pa
st my waist, would blur the reality of what was underneath. I was always fidgeting with my shirts, always trying to cover up some part of myself I thought wasn’t good enough to be exposed. Something I wasn’t confident enough to show, quietly keeping a distance between the world and my body. I didn’t even know I was doing it…just like I didn’t know I’d be interested in women.
I remember I was with her one day and we were getting ready to go out to run errands or get dinner. She looked at my outfit and said something like, “You should tuck your shirt in, it would look really good.” A silent wave of fear coursed through my body…I don’t…do…that. But because it was her, I tried it. She looked at me, smirking, like, Toldja so. I smiled, and that was that. And then there was a shift. I felt more put together, more feminine, more stylish, more confident. It wasn’t completely about the shirt, it was also about being with her, I know, but the visible change in the way I carried myself seeped into my body. Life-changing events are usually bigger, more pronounced, and typically don’t involve a small adjustment in the way you wear your T-shirts, but this was one for me. I’ve shown a lot of myself (almost everything) on television, but this was different. It was like tucking in my shirt was me coming out as queer, to myself. I was already with a woman and it was no secret, but this was where I owned it. I claimed it as mine. This is who I am and who I want to be. I was proud to be this person, fully. I had never felt more like a woman, more extraordinary, and more in charge.
I Might Regret This Page 6