Halfway

I can measure my frustration by the lack of miles on my car. I'm in a city now where I lived as a child, a small child. I can still remember the halfway points between home and church, home and Mamaw's house, home and school, home and the doctor's office. I would always keep a watch for that halfway point. Usually it was just a bend in the road or a particular tree but that's where I decided "halfway" belonged. And I would picture the car driving up some hill to that point, and then coasting down to the desired destination.

I do the same thing in New Orleans. There's a halfway point between home and the Quarter, home and church, home and Lebanon's (by bike or car...different halfways), home and the bookstore in Mandeville, home and Audobon Park. I used to drive over to Elizabeth's on the West Bank for no good reason other than to feel the halfway point on the bridge. I'd drive over and back again to see the city at night. I miss that drive.

I have only one halfway point now, a patch of grass on the highway, between Mamaw's house and school. I drive around a lot, killing time, but I have no destination. In New Orleans I always had a place to go, to get to, to drive to and then turn around. Here, it's just an aimless meandering. Killing time. That's all I do.