(NB: Everything posted under these next four “The search for time lost” posts was composed in real time as noted.)
I’d never flown into Nashville.
I didn’t need to in the old days. Three hours tops to drive it, which makes air travel ridiculous to consider. And then, I didn’t have any reason to. So when the undersized plane banked over downtown, the city lights sprinkled against the dusk were shining like diamonds and Vanderbilt Stadium, the first purpose-built football stadium in the South, was lit from all sides. And it was gorgeous. Everything I ever imagined in another life.
Then the rental car and that drive South – and once again, just like the old days, heading to Alabama to deal alone with a badly mentally-unbalanced Southern female. But there’s time to worry about that in the morning. For now, just like before – a dark night, an open road, a full tank of gas and a full bottle of soda.
“Saturn Parkway.” I got a bit of a lump in my throat at that – the car company whose name christened the new road to Spring Hill all those years ago no longer exists. And I’m not driving that Saturn this time. It’s dark, darker than I ever remember it being. In my memory, it was always a full moon and a clear sky full of stars. This time, it’s positively black in every direction. Maybe it’s the hills and the trees and a late-rising waning moon, but for whatever reason, the nighttime dark is more than I expected. The road winds more in the hills approaching the state line. I still laugh at the signs for the World Famous Boobie Bungalow, which apparently has competition from an Adult Book Store across the interstate with faux fireworks over their sign. I wonder if the same economics that affect firework sales across borders apply to vibrators.
I see signs for US 31. I always wanted to do that drive up, instead of taking I-65, but I never did. And this isn’t the time to start. So it’s interstate all the way, across the Alabama border, past the rocket towering in the dark by the welcome center, to stop at the same old Shell station at exit 351 halfway there. Then the bridge over the Tennessee River, the cluster of lights in the distance that suggested some futuristic city or casino or something…even though I’m pretty sure it’s just a refinery of some sort. Then the gas station off the Decatur exit where listening to KMOX on one late-night drive gave me the news that the Los Angeles Rams were relocating.
After that, it’s just a drive. Billboards every mile, no more darkness – the billboard is practically the state tree of Alabama – and I can feel my chest tighten ever so slightly thinking of what the next three days hold. And that’s when the Melissa Etheridge song on the CD of nostalgic 1994 songs comes on, and makes sense to me for the first time.
…this town thinks I’m crazy, they just think I’m strange
sometimes they want to own me, sometimes they wish I’d change
but I can feel the thunder underneath my feet
I sold my soul for freedomÂ
it’s lonely but it’s sweet…