Sunglasses

Driving on 495 is Hell because it takes forever. Exit 3...2..1.. then it starts over again. I think about what Rock Village (Exit 3) is really like. The sun is burning my eyes. When I was little, or maybe just all the time, my Dad would always bug me about sunglasses. We'd pass a sunglasses stand in the mall, "Andre, sunglasses!" or a cheap sunglasses vendor at the flea market, "Andre... sunglasses!"
"Dad!" I'd say with deep annoyance.

I never liked sunglasses. I mean no offense to them but for me sunglasses were always like chopping off all your hair. It looks good for a day and then you hate it. Well, at least I do.Once at the mall my Mom and I were trying on sunglasses. I tried on one pair, a real 'cool' looking black pair that covered my eyebrows (very important) and we both went, "Oooh!" I looked good. Eventually I realized that I did not look good and threw them on the floor of my car, where the lenses popped out.

The truth is, I don't need sunglasses because I have a visor. When the sun is in front of you, you put it down. When it's to the side of you, you put it to the side. Easy. But sometimes the sun makes its way to a place unreachable by the visor, and this is what makes me wish that sunglasses and I got along better.

Exit 5 is no better than any other exit. Two lanes instead of three. There should always be three. There should always be extendable visors. But there should never be sun in your eyes. Sometimes I think that sunglasses are pretend. They don't really protect  your eyes because it still hurts to look at the sun. And while you're not suppose to look at the sun, you do anyways..because you're not supposed to. Ninety-three million miles away and it still stings like hell. Home is ninety-three million miles away. Home? Is this what I call home now? Yuck.

By exit 10 the sun starts to turn orange, which means it's almost gone. I don't need the visor anymore but I always forget to put it back up. Driving around at night with the visor down may be embarrassing, but at least no one really cares. Or notices. When the visor has been down for a long time though, and you put it back up, you're amazed at how much more you can see.

Somewhere near exit 17 when the lanes go back to three, I smell my purple Beauty & the Beast lunchbox from kindergarten and I smile. I miss when things were simple. I miss the smell of plastic. There was a time when I had never driven over the bridge. So much has changed since then. All I want to do is crawl inside my lunchbox and drink juice boxes. Forget about this 'being an adult' crap.

Exit 22 is fast approaching. It's night (when did that happen?). The sun is gone but something continues to bug me. I guess it could be because I can't find the right CD, or maybe because my left leg is getting achy. But it's probably because I've decided that I hate this drive and it's stupid $1.55 toll. But that's not till later.

Exit 22 and I've changed my mind. Growing up is what bugs me the most, maybe even more than losing him.

No that isn't true.

Now I am missing the sun, even though it gets in the way. It's still my fault that I don't like sunglasses. Pretend or not they help a little. I should have listened to him all those times. What would he say now looking down on me..."Sunglasses! Why can't you just get a pair of sunglasses?"

Something like that I guess.

Why can't I, I wonder? I guess I figure that a visor is really all I need. Stupid sunglasses. Who needs them anyway? Even if I can't see the road I know where I'm going because this is the ninety-third millionth time I've driven down it. And it still stings like hell.