The Wanderlust

Tarrith up and left.

He's been back for several days now, but- I believe it was sometime between Sunday and Tuesday that this occured, he hit a brick wall in life. And so he came to a decision- at ten o'clock at night he drove 300 miles across Missouri to see his best friend. It was a combination of complete awakeness, frustration, and the thought that he'd be driving all night, so why not drive out to see Pat.

And so he did.

"Ah, so has your brother been seized by the wanderlust often?" Drac asked when I told him. Wanderlust. It has a sort of ring to it, I suppose.

Wanderlust. It's the sort of feeling when you can't stay at home, the need for escape, the want to do something- anything- out of the ordinary.

I think it's hereditary. Not so much from Big Daddy's side as my mom's. I remember a few days when she would be frustrated, take the keys, slam the door. She'd be back later, but now I'm beginning to wonder where she would go to. The Art Museum? To visit Aunt Helen or Grandma A? Or just drive?

It kicks in for me about this time each year. As a matter of fact, it was especially bad last summer, and there was very little to be done about it. No driver's liscense, and a certain promise not to go wandering about on my own- then the move... I guess it all balled up for me last night. The promise not to wander, the need to think, the inability to go home, and then- getting lost.

I didn't get lost on purpose, mind you. I've never driven back to Ballwin from Ronnies. Then again, I don't believe that I've ever driven to Ronnie's before. So it's perfectly natural that after turning out of the Ronnie's Parking Lot I drive- and drive- and drive- and drive- in the wrong direction. Ending up out near South County mall, I took the 64/40 exit back to Affton- having found that I was already in the turning lane to do anything about it.

Tarrith's described driving back from the Walgreens at Grasso Plaza to me before. All of the lights flash yellow or red. (they turn at about ten at night, from what I understand. He gets off work at about 11 or so.) I felt it, driving from Weber to Gravois, Gravois to Elm, then taking the highway for a time. The silent road whispered, and the radio kept telling me- go...

"Maybe I'll go travelling for a year
Finding myself, or start a career..."

get lost...

"It's just an invitation, across the nation,
A chance for folks to meet.
There'll be laughing and singing,
Music swinging, dancing in the streets"

don't just go home...

"Crush the ice and shake forever
Tell the evening where to go
If you need a new endeavor
I can teach you what I know"

not yet...

I turned off of Big Bend at the Harley Davidson shop, flipping between hard rock, angsty punk, hip hop, Rock'n'roll, and swing- back and forth. If it felt right, it stayed. I checked the clock, 12:06. I needed to get home at a semi-reasonable hour, but I only had one destination in mind- I wanted to get out to Brentwood Square- to turn around and go home. I knew that I'd have more than enough gas for that. However, I didn't know what I was about to do wrong.

Brentwood Square is not on Manchester.

Now, I knew this. Deep within my heart I knew this. And yet, I drove directly past the road that would have taken me towards the Galleria. I drove until Manchester hit Big Bend. I clung to each slightly familliar road from then on. Somewhere between where Big Bend dead-ended, I saw skyscrapers pulling away the trees for a bit, and a Wash U. banner. A turn onto a street I didn't know, completely lost for the first time, not stopping, waxing philosophic. How many days have I just wanted to pick up, like Tarrith had, and go.

Not across just a state, I supposed. Chicago... Gas be damned, this summer I want to go to Chicago. Or perhaps it's just the part of me that found it ironic that I ended up in Clayton while thinking about another cityscape. I still had no way to tell if I was going the right or wrong way, still not able to navigate as I would have liked to.

From Clayton, I made it to Highway 40, from Higway 40 to the Galleria, and then from the Galleria to Brentwood Square.

Mission accomplished.

Eighth of a gas tank gone, and I had more questions than answers.

I circled back up to Manchester and went home, now with a thirst for something to be accomplished slaked- at least for the time being. Until I get five paychecks under my belt, I don't have enough money to support a wandering habit like that.