From the files

I've been immersed in a little filing project and have found some really fun stuff from my college days (er, two years ago...). I thought you'd enjoy some little bits and pieces. Here's from my junior year autobio class.

Night Drive

"You know, I've seen that movie three times, and I'm still convinced it's better than going to therapy," I told Sara as we sped down Pacific Ave at 1 a.m..

We pulled into the Starbucks parking lot where my little red '88 Acura glowed orange in the florescent street light.

"Oh thank God it wasn't towed!" I sighed.

"They weren't going to tow it... they just closed only an hour ago," Sara reasoned.

We pulled up next to the Acura and Sara put her car into park as I rummaged for my keys.

"Hey, thanks for driving - I know this was random, but I just had an urge to see that movie," I said.

"No problem. Hey, do you want me to wait while your car defrosts?" Sara asked. "I don't want to leave you here alone, but it doesn't look like you'll be going anywhere soon." I leaned past her and looked through her window to where my car sat. Sure enough, the windows were pure white with condensation. Perfect. I sighed.

"Yeah. Thanks... Hopefully it won't take too long." I climbed out of her car, said goodnight, and hurried over to jump into my car. I fumbled with the keys until my car was on and defrosting, cold air blasting against my legs.

I couldn't see Sara's car, but I knew she was still sitting there, and as I sat shivering, my phone started ringing. I dumped my purse out on the passenger's seat and flipped it open.

"Sara?" I answered.

"Hi," she said. I giggled.

"This is ridiculous. Do you realize how funny we look, just sitting here in the middle of the night?" I laughed.

"Wait, turn your radio onto 92.5," Sara said. "There's a really good song." I did as she said. Save Tonight by Eagle Eye Cherry was playing, and I turned it up as loud as I could so I could hear the song in my own speakers and through my cell phone.

"Saaaaaave tonight," Sara sang at the top of her lungs. "And fight the break of dawn...."

I sang with her. It didn't matter that my radio had some kind of lag so she was always a few seconds ahead of me in singing. It didn't really matter that I couldn't see her through the fogginess of my windows. I knew that only six feet away she sat in her car, holding her phone up high, singing and laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. That was, after all, what I was doing.