Horizon

They whipped down the I-88 at 80 miles per hour. The sky out the dusty window was a brilliant blue and clouds frothed over the sun down to the horizon.
“God,” Sophie said, “the sky is so beautiful. In flat places like this, the land has its own sparse beauty, but because of its simplicity the sky becomes the interest. In mountainous places the land is the interest.”
“Yeah, I miss it,” Vanessa said.
They listened to a play list Sophie had made for the five-hour journey to see Maddi. They were relaxed because at the moment Wilco was softly playing so they could still talk to each other.
“I’m not worried about being caught speeding,” Sophie said. “Because where do the cops hide? We could see them a million miles away its so flat. They hide in the middle between the two lanes. And sometimes behind bridges but not really because there isn’t often a road bit they can pull off on.”
“I’m not worried about being caught speeding because you’re the one driving,” Vanessa grinned.
Sophie scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue but her eyes never left the road. Vanessa took out her knitting. She only knew how to knit not to purl but she hadn’t dropped a stitch yet. It had taken Sophie an hour to teach her how to knit the night before because her fingers weren’t used to twisting and turning yarn. They had awkwardly stumbled over each pull until the coarse acrylic yarn had formed uneven ugly stitches. Now her movement wasn’t fluid, but it wasn’t confused yanks either.
“I want to make a scarf,” Vanessa said.
“Why? You’ll never use it.”
“I can use it when I visit in during Christmas.”
“True.”
Vanessa had left. Now she inhabited bleak highways littered with cars and outlet stores. In the distance were craggy blue mountains speckled with snow. Their beauty was overwhelmed by the smell of gas, smoke, and rotting lettuce. Sophie never wanted to go back there. There was too much filth. But she remembered one sunset on the Pacific that had looked like Turner painting. The sun had scattered yellow light off the ocean and there had been a hazy purple pier that felt miles away. They had been ankle deep in wet sand and for a moment the only noise was the soft rock of waves and the only smell had been salt. She hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath until a car alarm suddenly screamed in the distance and she had cried out in surprise. They had slumped in the sand to watch the last glow of the sun disappear over the horizon while high-pitched shrieks sounded into the night.

One of my final personal essays for Rhetoric 243. The painting above is one I just did this past summer of the Merritt Prairie for my mother of a picture she took. Putting together the writing portfolio is literally the last thing I have to do . . . at this point I'm more revising enough to get an okay grade. It'll all right if I get a B in that class because I'm pretty sure I have A's in everything else. I got my essay on Faulkner's "Barn Burning", Tin Ore Man (last punny title!) back and I got an A-. Plus the final for that class was ridiculously easy. I just hope I'm not stuck here tomorrow because of this horrid winter storm.

Weird moment last night: Vivian and I were waiting with Christine for her train when Christine called her parents because the train was really delayed. She started speaking to them in Chinese. Then, Vivian's mother called and she started speaking on her phone in Spanish. I suddenly felt extremely white. The only thing I could do if my parents called would be to speak in a British accent and say the words "loo"and "lift". Oh well. At least I know what Marmite is!

Also, I don't really speed, Mom. I swear.

listening to: Feist--1234