Nowhere To Go

I knew it! I’m late! Again.

I glance over at the clock on the dashboard: 3:01. The ceremony was supposed to start promptly at 3:30. Sigh. I’ll never hear the end of it.

The white Jeep in front of me suddenly stops short, forcing me temporarily out of my daydream and I automatically apply pressure to the brake. The expressway is a parking lot, which shouldn’t surprise me since it’s a beautiful day and everyone is out. No one knows how to drive. Add in the construction that dots the road every few exits and you’ve got New York’s Long Island Expressway, better known as the LIE to locals.

I knew I should have left earlier. I think back to the past two hours, wondering where I could have done something differently, but knowing I wouldn’t have bothered. To be honest, I really didn’t even want to go. But skipping my cousin’s wedding would be a felony in my family.

***** ***** ***** *****

Hmmm, I really like this blue dress, but it makes me look 10 pounds heavier. I don’t need to see that in the photos. I threw it unceremoniously on the bed.

Hmmm, the pink flowers accentuate my complexion, but then the neckline shows my wrinkles. Mom will hate that. To the bed went the dress.

Oh, now what is THAT? I need to call the dermatologist on Monday. I scrutinized my reflection in the mirror for far too long, turning this way and that to get a better angle. The tiny lines at the edges of my eyes do nothing to help my face. When did all those lines appear on my forehead? I moved farther from the mirror as if to make the lines disappear, but they were still there, mocking me as I turned to one side, and I knew they’d still be there as I turned to the other side.

I finally decided to go with a basic black dress, choosing simple hoop earrings and a choker necklace as camouflage. I grabbed a wrap out of the dresser drawer, planning to keep myself wrapped up as much as possible to head off the comments I’d no doubt hear:

(“Did you gain weight? Maybe you’re sitting around too much. You should get out more.” or “You know, those wrinkles make you look so much older. You should do something about them. And maybe lose 5 pounds.”)

Yeah, my family is not subtle.

Double-checking my makeup, and the contents of my purse, I passed by the bed which was laden with the numerous outfits I’d just discarded. In the middle of the pile sat Kingsley, perfectly content in his new bed.

Hey, you little brat, get off my clothes! You don’t see me taking over your doggie bed, do you? I laughed and hugged my beloved Irish Setter.

Kingsley raised his head for a second, then, deciding I was no threat, let it fall lazily back down. At 3 years old, he knew he ruled the house, and I was convinced he wouldn’t care one bit if I did try to commandeer his bed. He preferred mine anyway.

Okay, if I leave right now, I’ll get there with time to spare. My streak for being late was about to end today.

But I didn’t leave just then. First, I noticed a run in my stocking and trudged back upstairs to find another pair. By that time, Kingsley was deep in a dream, running his little heart out, and my dresses were scattering faster than I could catch them.

Then the doorbell rang, and I spent 10 excruciating minutes listening to my neighbor Lara tell me all about her trip to the paint store in her search for the perfect nursery color.

Finally, I disentangled myself and hurried to the kitchen to make my way to the garage. Unfortunately, I didn’t get far before discovering that Alex and Eddie had, once again, up-ended two of my plants so they could sit in the bay window. There they sat, pawing at the glass and hissing to scare the birds who wanted nothing more than to eat from their feeder which hung in the tree.

You Van Halens! How many times have I told you to stop harassing those birds!

Alex meowed and Eddie looked away disinterestedly when I addressed them. Their orange striped statues remained fixed on the window ledge as I scooped dirt off the floor and replaced it in the pots. But the vacuum cleaner soon changed their minds and they hissed indignantly, scattering in two different directions.

Maybe that’ll teach you to listen. I put away the vacuum and washed up before attempting once again to leave, but then discovered that I had put on two different shoes. Once again, I returned to my bedroom.

Well, now I don’t even know if I should bother going. I rationalized that even if I left now, I wouldn’t make it on time. Maybe I should just say something came up. After all, a few somethings had already come up. But no, I’d promised to go and I was going.

***** ***** ***** *****

Which brings me here, sitting in traffic on the LIE, with nowhere to go. I glance at the time again: 3:24. Seriously, how is the time going so quickly and the traffic is not?

But that’s the story of my life. So much time has gone by and what have I done? It’s already almost 2 years since I’d decided to go back to school, but I still haven’t done it. I downloaded the application and printed out all the courses I needed. I figured out how to fit classes around my work schedule. I did the math to be sure I could afford the tuition. I just didn’t complete the application. It was fun to plan for my new career, but to actually do something about it…well…

I’ve always been fascinated by history. I read everything I can get my hands on. The History Channel should be re-named after me. I’ve never been close to discovering anything though. No actual archaeological digs for me, just fantasy ones. No investigations. No, I have too much to do. Being an accountant keeps me very busy. Who has time to build a new career?

The clock shows 3:31 now and the GPS informs me that I’m still 7 minutes away.

Sigh. I feel like time is always against me and I always settle for observing from afar. You know, I was part of the search for Cleopatra’s tomb—I watched the documentaries from my sofa with my three trusted partners snoozing next to me. The mystery of Amelia Earhart? I was there too, with the Van Halens on my feet and Kingsley on my lap. I’ve been privy to the secrets of the founding fathers, the search for extraterrestrial life, the investigations into the Salem Witch trials—with my three faithful furry companions along for the adventures. On the sofa.

Another glance at the clock: 3:42. The GPS is no longer talking to me. It’s ok; it lied last time anyway. 7 minutes? Thanks a lot, GPS.

My attempts to get back the navigation are in vain, so I try to remember the general directions I’d glanced over before starting my drive.

LIE to exit 48…merge onto S Service Road…what was next?

Ugh, why didn’t I memorize the directions?

Ok, don’t panic. You know where to exit the Expressway, you can just pull over then, and ask someone for directions.

I crank up Sirius XM and get lost in Eddie Van Halen’s “Eruption.”

I would be a great archaeologist! I get so angry with myself sometimes: I just know I can do something, but then I don’t do it. Why? Am I lazy? Afraid? Incapable? What’s wrong with me?

In my senior year of high school, I was so excited for the future. But the day I told my parents I wanted to be an archaeologist, nothing turned out as I had planned.

***** ***** ***** *****

“You want to WHAT?” my mother not-so-subtly questioned me.

“Mom, I have it all figured out. I’ll –"

“We will NOT pay for you to go to college to dig in the dirt! You, young lady, will choose a respectable career, one that will ensure your future and not have you traipsing all over the world digging up bones, like some female Indiana Jones.”

“But Mom, that’s not all archaeology is about.”

“The subject is closed. We will pay for college if you choose a decent career. Otherwise, you can go to work as soon as you graduate high school, and forget college.”

***** ***** ***** *****

Well, I chose a “decent” career, all right. I’m comfortable financially. I have a house for just me and my three furry babies. And I’m not happy.

The blue Mazda in front of me has the right turn signal on, and I casually glance as the driver steers to the exit ramp.

Exit 49N Broad Hollow Road NY 110.

Wait, what? I missed the next exit?

I feel the familiar tightening in my stomach and the sweat taking over every pore as my eyes scan the road ahead. It’s just one long stretch of expressway, as it always has been, but somehow it looks foreign to me right now. I don’t know how I missed the exit, and I don’t know where to go now.

I have no choice but to wait until the next exit. This time when I get directions, I’ll write them down just in case. My stomach settles a bit since I have a new plan.

Crisis averted; I change the channel to “Elvis Radio” and await my next chance to leave the expressway. I accompany Elvis in his next song to take my mind off being late. “A little less conversation, a little more action…” That’s the perk of driving alone: the only ears my singing assaults are mine, and I’m ok with that, as long as the music is good.

3:59. At least the traffic is moving decently now. I’ve already missed the ceremony, but I can still make it to the reception on time. Or maybe just a few minutes late.

I glance up at the green sign as I travel underneath it. Exit 51 Deer Park Road NY 231

Seriously, I did it again?

I’m now 4 exits past where I needed to be, and I still don’t know where I’m going. I’ll have to turn around and go through all those exits again. It doesn’t seem worth the trouble for this party.

(I can almost hear my mother complaining:

“I told her to leave extra early. I don’t understand that daughter of mine. She’s always late.”

My brother Matt would be the only one to defend me. “She’ll be here, Mom. Let her be. You’re always on her case.”

Once again, I’ll be the cause of a family squabble, only to be blamed for ruining the wedding. Without even being there!)

I swear I’m feeling the beginning of an ulcer as my stomach lurches, and panic overtakes me.

Ok, so I passed another exit. I’ll just take the next one. The next one that’s so far from here.

I try to calm myself down, but fear has a funny way of gripping and not letting go. I wish I had gone with my instinct and stayed home. I could be there right now curled up on the couch with Eddie on my lap, Kingsley next to me, and Alex on top of Kingsley’s tail. That’s comfort. Routine.

Of course, I do realize it’s routine that stops me from trying anything new. I really should complete that application. What’s the harm? In my mind, I run through the list of classes that sounded so interesting—yes, I have those memorized, but I didn’t memorize the directions to the wedding. Priorities. I promise myself I’ll fill out the application as soon as I return home that evening.

It would be exciting to go back to school, to do something completely new. It’s not that I hate my job, but accounting is, well it’s accounting. Nothing exciting, nothing new from day to day. And I want adventure. Why can’t I—

How on earth did I get to the Sagtikos Parkway? Seriously, these exits are so long, how did I miss 2 more?

I glance to the right, but there’s too much traffic coming behind me, so I have to wait to change lanes. There’s plenty of time before the next exit, but I’m determined not to miss another opportunity. My best bet is to get into the right lane now, so I won’t miss the next off-ramp. And if I do, I could still attempt a hasty exit from the right lane.

I glance over again and see a break: I could move over after the red pickup passes me. One more lane to go.

The sign for Motor Parkway exit 55 looms ahead, warning motorists to get ready. But as I signal, I notice on my right the headlights of a long black car, followed by a string of cars with bright headlights staring ahead.

Funeral. Okay, not the best time to change lanes. I stay where I am to be respectful and soon I’m watching the next exit fly by.

The irony is not lost on me. This trip really is the story of my life. I let opportunities pass by and intentions slip away, too scared to take a chance, to follow through.

Then again, it’s hard to go against what’s expected. My parents are ecstatic that I’m in a stable job. My mom always manages to remind me that she was “right” about not letting me choose the career I really wanted all those years ago. And I still can’t seem to tell her that I need to make my own choices. Oh, the words form in my mind, but they never come out of my mouth. I always just let her talk and follow her directions.

Now I see the sign for Exit 56 Wheeler Road coming up and I easily guide the car into the right lane. But as I approach the off-ramp, I suddenly don’t want to exit the expressway. I don’t know where I’ll be when I leave it, and at least I know the LIE. I’m frozen at the thought of being lost, not knowing where to go, without a guide.

I decide right then: I’m not going to that wedding.

But then I have nowhere to go.

I keep driving.

The LIE stretches on for miles and miles, but eventually it will come to an end. I suddenly have a new destination: exit 73. I don’t know why, but I feel I need to keep driving until I reach the end of this expressway.