North:
I used to be a member of the "I've Cried on I-35" Facebook group. That stretch of road has been witness to a fair share of my upsets and tears. More than three hundred miles in four and half hours makes for a long drive of silent contemplation and unsuspecting realizations. Most of the time the radio can drown out most of what flutters around in my mind but my most recent excursion up the highway put me in a position to consider renewing my membership to that group. I suppose the actual drive time passed by quickly as I was primarily distracted by the nervous anxiety filling my stomach and the doubt creeping up my esophagus searching for an opportunity to become a vocalized fear. The "what ifs?" and "how comes?" controlled all brain function and in turn caused my tear ducts to respond defensively. It is quite a risk driving I-35 because I never expect to be smacked around by both my head and heart in such a concentrated time and place.
South:
I used to hate listening to Delilah on the radio. I would suck it up during the holidays because her particular station always plays the best Christmas songs, but other than that, I would avoid my tuner resting on her station in the evenings and I was vocal about my hatred for her happy go-lucky, do-gooder attitude. But crazily enough, I've needed to listen to her for the past month. She's become a comfort to me on my drive home from work. I can tune into 101.9 at 7 pm and know that she will be on the air delivering love songs and inspirational music for all occasions. Her music tastes and words of encouragement have helped me out of the funk of my most recent difficult days. And I wouldn't have begun listening to her if it weren't for a particular someone's adamant love for Delilah that at one point pushed my buttons. And I wonder sometimes when I'm listening her if that same person is listening too at the very moment in some other state. Both calmed by the melodies streaming from our separate stereos. Both being reminded of the past. Both curious of the future. Both.
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