A Twenty-One Minute Drive

 It’s always hot in here. It’s 6:32 a.m. and as a small bead of sweat threatens to roll down my face, I can’t help wondering how this mass of mobile metal turns into such a sweat shop. Shutting my door, I allow myself to breathe in the humid fragrance of the front seats and greet my ever-cheerful friend. Strong waves of aroma, much like that of rain and sweat mixed together with subtle traces of oil and exhaust, fill my nose at the sound of my door slamming shut. “How are you?” a chipper remark flits from my mouth as I scramble with the grimy and stiff seatbelt. My bag is thrown behind the seats and settles atop a mess of ropes, jumper cables, bungie cords and other tools as the boy replies, “I’m alright, thank you. … do you mind listening to the radio today?” I watched him eye my hands that lingered over my CD’s laying in my backpack, and reluctantly surrendered. He was, after all, my ride to school.
The rough, grey fabric of my seat prickled my bare legs as I bent over to crank and turn a lever that rolls down my window. Bliss. As a cold breeze aided my now fevered skin, I admired the rugged capacity of the old truck. Grass and dirt cover the protective mats of the floor, leaving one with the impression that this car wasn’t made to be clean or orderly. Every morning there was a new addition to the remains from older days of travel: a plastic chinese fan from three years ago may gain the companionship of my now long-lost pen of liquid eyeliner. Purple hair clips, bobby pins, lost pennies, and gum wrapper wads clutter in the shallows of cupholders, while a phone and loose change gather in an idle pocket to hold CDs. Jokes and nonsense conversations pass between my companion and I as we listen to the reassuring rhythm of Christian rock pulsing from aged speakers. Guitars and drums sound from the radio blending to a thick voice singing of a lord and salvation, rocking ones  conscience in a way of such comfort; it’s hard not to just go along for the ride.
With my window down, I can smell the perfume of actual rain from the night before. I sat there contently feeling and breathing the unnerving contrast between the air_from the thick warm fog of the truck to the cool clean mist of the morning skies. With a woosh, wind slashes past my right ear as angelical anthems thunder into my left, and I’ve suddenly realized I hadn’t really heard my friend speak. I glance at him driving, he’s both carefree and cautious. It leaves me with a safe feeling. At 6:53 we turn into the lot and run through our now-familiar ritual of reminders and objectives. “Grab your phone!” is the only thing I say as I grab my bag and lock the door before he could remind me to do so.“Thank you.” A simple yet genuine comment, that can bring a sense of goodness into my day.
As we walk away from the small silver truck, making notes of little nothings for today, I witness the orange and pink hues of a complex sunset before me. Gold and rose burns across the sky, and I can almost taste the sweet dew from the leaves and the mineral-like air wafting through my hair. Breathing and devouring all of this, I realize there is no place I would rather be.