Driving Away From Dementiaville

I feel like I am diagonally parked
in a parallel universe.

-- Author Unknown

Nearly every time Romeo and I would get in the car, me behind the wheel, to head home from somewhere, I'd ask, "Home, James?"

To which he would reply, "Yes, and don't spare the horses."

Recently, I found myself driving north on the Interstate, minding my own business and listening to a Beatles CD (Help!), when I was overtaken by the strong desire to continue driving north, perhaps to Cheyenne (why there, I have no idea), with no intention whatsoever of sparing the horses.

I simply wanted to keep on going, to drive away. It's not that I had any destination in mind. Was I driving away from something? To somewhere, to something? Was I simply driving for the fun of it?

We've all been in the situation where we were driving somewhere and arrived at our destination without actually remember driving there. Our automatic pilot drove while we were -- where? Asleep behind the wheel? Annotating our lives? Alert in some other state of consciousness? Well, this wasn't like that. I simply wanted to drive. Maybe it was because it was quiet, peaceful, scenery passing before me, the white lines of the interstate beckoning to adventure, to places and people unknown.

The dashboard, my ever-present guide, enticed me. The speedometer showed 82 mph (completely legal on a stretch where the speed limit is 75, right?) and pulled me forward. The tachometer held steady at 2,5000 rpm and encouraged me to continue. The temperature gauge hung just above the middle of C and H and confided its readiness for a long drive. The fuel level indicated nearly full, and I thought seriously of taking a long, long drive.

All systems were go. My chariot with its 3,500 horsepower (I think that's what it is -- at least, that's what it says under the hood: V6 3,500) was ready to take me in any direction I pointed it. No need to spare the horses today, now. The idea of continuing my drive north seemed delicious, sexy, perhaps even decadent. For hours I could remain in my chariot, this moving sanctuary, my mind free to wander to its content while another part of me took in the expanse of the blue and golden autumn sky peeking above the blanket of gray clouds threatening to unleash a sprinkle or two, the mountains to my left, the hills beneath me, and the plains to my right.

An empty mind. When I drive alone like this, my mind holds nothing. I am mobile and hollow. I am driving and driven by nothing. Yes, this is exactly what I need. To drive is to be here, in the present, and not in Dementiaville, with nothing else to occupy me. My chariot knows where it's going. I can simply be, I can sit back, with eyes alert to the road and hands guiding the wheels, and be taken by 3,500 horses (or however many there are pulling my chariot) to wherever my spirit guides me. To rest in the clouds, to be held and embraced and kissed by their soft mistiness.

This would be a welcome respite from my life with Romeo and dementia. But it will not happen this day. There are appointments to keep, things to do, people to see. Life has a way of inserting itself into our dreams. And so later, perhaps tomorrow or the next day, I'll look at a map or check out the internet for places I might drive to, drive long to. I'll drive to soothe and heal my spirit, to pay homage to my aching soul, to honor this process of losing Romeo, to honor him. And, as Romeo has frequently suggested, I will not spare the horses.