I used to fear the night, not the dark. I didn’t tell my parents, but I preferred arriving home in the daylight, comforted by the sight of something recognizable outside the window. Sitting in the back seat of their car at night came with a distinct sound, the 1-2 sound of the wheels on the road, gliding, scraping, hitting small bumps and holes. I wasn’t sure how driving worked, exactly. I knew it wasn’t frightening, that mild tiredness did not affect the task of going from New York City to Long Island. 

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Driving at night came with fewer words and less laughter than driving in the daylight. I fell asleep in the back seat, wondering for how long when I woke up. I kept my eyes closed upon coming back to consciousness, trying to overhear my parents’ quiet conversation, wondering if they shared different things than they did with me. With the whispers came the 1-2, 1-2, 1-2. When I opened my eyes and stretched my arms or yawned slightly louder than I normally would, I saw the red lights of the cars in front of and next to me, and the white lights on the other side of the road. I asked myself how much longer these strangers needed to drive, and how long roads really were. Ah, coucou mon ange, my mother said to me in the best case, turning her back and head to look at my rising body. Vouz parlez de quoi? I asked them if they did not notice that I was now listening, or if they did not know I even fell asleep in the first place. Sometimes I said nothing, waiting for her to say hello first. When we got home and the 1-2 turned into the rumble of the gravel driveway and then into the quiet of the countryside, I hoped the talking would continue instead of turning into the longest silence of sleep. 

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I usually drive to my college house from the library with a person or two, but if alone then with music. Yesterday, however, everyone had already returned home, and I did not think to plug my phone into the audio system. I heard the two beeps following the click of my keys and the slam of the door closing me into the car. I heard the engine begin and then quiet down when shifting into drive. I noticed how empty the roads in Arlington get after 9pm. I made my way without thought, my feet and hands bringing me home on their own. Alone in the car, I remarked the 1-2, 1-2. It had always been there, I knew, but usually disappeared while I focused on the road, or on entertaining, talking, laughing. I heard the 1-2, its attached worry now unattached.