eyes in the ditch

my new fear of driving

my shocks are out in my cadillac. this makes it scary to drive because I can feel every groove in the road. every time I hitch on some obstruction I flash into un-kilter-ing. i fear i will start to drift and continue to drift, out of control. the way the body of the car seems to move separately from where I can feel the wheels touch the pavement. it's weird to develop this sort of outer body awareness. to understand the car as an extension of my self. humans have this sort of sensory thing about them - how I can always tell where my keys are in the dark. where my scarf reaches on my belly. even the end of a shovel, when it hits the garden earth the spade may as well be my fingers. the pile of dirt cool in this extension of my palm.

there is no fear that the mechanics of the cadillac will fail. rather i am afraid i don’t know where a part of me is. and without strict supervision that a part of me is destined to terror. that fate careens toward destruction always.

my eyes were trained to detect glittering in the ditch. that meant animal eyes. that meant potential collision, death and damage. something to be aware of in the woods at 70 mph. but now i scanned the grasses that hemmed up the highways under this spell, this new fear of driving, and drew the wrong conclusions. about the glittering of garbage and metal refuse. it appeared beastly and alive to me. like it might spring out into the road and for both of us, end it all.