Pac-Maning

There are moments when your life seems to have this momentum—

Too abstract—
(Pause. Closes eyes.)

It’s like…

It’s like when you’re taking I-85 southbound from Buckhead after dinner with friends — the A is like two mini skylines separated by a few miles and connected by Peachtree St. — and the lights overhanging the interstate whizz by.

Just like a film reel.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh —
and there’s a break in the trees.

And there she is—
The A.

Glittering through the break in the landscape.
Winding her way from Midtown to Downtown.

She just appears, all of a sudden.

Maybe not as seizing as New York City.
Nor Chicago.
Nor L.A.

Somewhere in between.

To some, not noteworthy —
but not to be ignored.

Just a girl, making her way in the world, on her terms.

The momentum of the streetlights passing overhead like the dots of Pac-Man.

And me—

Just driving.
Just Pac-Man dotting my way home.

That’s what I mean.

It’s like I was supposed to be living this moment—
this moment, in this exact space.

Like driving this small stretch between the two epicenters is a reminder that my life is passing through a place—
a place that will be here long after me.

And I wonder about the lives that passed through Rome, and Nairobi, and Beijing, and Berlin, and London, and Perth.

I wonder about the points of momentum that carried the stories of those souls who were making their way.

Those who — like me — are just making it up as they go along.

Those in an SUV on I-85,
just driving home—

in the A.