Chapter 3: A Confused & Sad Drive
“how many games has it been…?”
he can’t pull himself away from the game. it’s ironic, because it’s not out of fun. there’s just something about this game that allows for a reminiscent groove to settle in. it feels like there’s more to sift through, however fruitlessly - and this game is allowing for it to happen.
”is it dangerous to dwell on this stuff?”
he’s got no idea what the answer to that question is, he just knows he can’t stop.
one thing about his trips to ithaca was the car he used to go there - it was his very own. it felt like his own little dominion within this world that loomed over him. especially because when he visited, he was doing the driving for both of them since she didn’t have a car.
he cherished his car in these times. whether it be the trip to or from, or riding around ithaca - his car felt like the only strength he wielded on these trips.
he had a rule he lived by - ‘your car, your music.’ he respected it for others, and it was something he expected from others. he would curate his mix CDs for each trip. he would always fill them up with off kilter shit in an attempt to actually exude his own essence in this place that he kept letting himself be conquered by.
there was a great song by busdriver he put on a mix one time…
”oh wow, that’s a joan baez sample”, she says
she loved joan baez.
the irony of trying to skirt this world with pretentious posturing, only to realize he knew nothing of the source material he’d been trying to flex with.
but that’s interesting, isn’t it? this song sort of represented the two of them, in a functional sense. and what is sampling all about, anyway? it’s sort of like reanimating the past - but for what? for the heart of it, or for a vapid texture?
he draws some parallels…
he remembers this bleary, horrible scene from a particular drive back home from ithaca.
he remembers rain, and fog - an oppressively white sky - and he felt horrible. it was like all of this unspoken tension he was foisting upon himself in lieu of allowing himself to love this girl had pent up inside him. he only knew how to feel defeat, before he even needed to.
it’s a short drive, but he pulled off into a wendy’s. and he just sat there, on the verge of tears. he didn’t order anything. he just waited out this depressive episode, not understanding what the point of it was or why he even was sitting there.
on recalling that memory, things clicked a little bit more.
he didn’t know what he didn’t know.