I've been driving my friend's red sports car across the country. She gave me the keys and told me it would really help her out if I did that for her. She said she'd pay for gas and expenses and that she'd "owe me one" and I agreed to do it because I've always wanted to drive across the country. And now I can do it in style.
I've been nervous though. The car is pretty eye-catching. I don't want to call more attention to myself than needs be. I'm scared enough as it is of something bad happening on the road.
I wish polyjuice potion was a real thing. I wish for anything that I could appear differently, just for the time I'll be driving on the road. Lord knows the road is no place for a young woman. Or I guess, just a woman, young or old.
Maybe I've just seen too many movies, or been too influenced by those horror stories - women traveling solo who are raped, killed, kidnapped, harassed. Maybe it's not really like that?
Maybe I have no reason to be afraid of crossing red states. Maybe I shouldn't be afraid of the south. But I am visibly not white... and I wonder.
Isn't it terrifying to think that when you are driving, even though you are in a closed space - your vehicle - you are still incredibly vulnerable? People can see you. People can follow you. If they want to and are determined enough, they can get to you. It's no protection, really.
I've been on the road a couple of days, and I love it so far. I try and wear sunglasses when I stop for gas or to stock up on groceries or to venture into towns or cities. My problem is that when I am scared or lost, I look scared or lost. The sunglasses help.
One thing though, I keep passing by this janky old station wagon. It's a really dilapidating vehicle and each time I see it, it looks like it's got a new ailment. The paint scratched off on one day. A busted headlight the other day. A suspicious human sized cargo wrapped in a cloth, tied to the hood one day.
Other than the fact that I'm actually worried that that mysterious object might have been a human body, the driver keeps bothering me.
He'll speed up to drive side by side my car, and there's nothing I can do when he does that. He'll leer over at me and sweat and giggle. The worst thing is that I can see he has a wife and two young children. Like I said, there's nothing I can do about it. Even when there are only two lanes on the road, he'll drive in the lane meant for oncoming travel to ogle and harass me.
The road feels safe on those long stretches when no one's around, but once there's someone, it feels like all safety is an illusion, and for as long as I am visible, I am public property.
I can't wait til I get to the coast so I can finish this trip and get back. It's worth it, but it feels gross sometimes.
I've been nervous though. The car is pretty eye-catching. I don't want to call more attention to myself than needs be. I'm scared enough as it is of something bad happening on the road.
I wish polyjuice potion was a real thing. I wish for anything that I could appear differently, just for the time I'll be driving on the road. Lord knows the road is no place for a young woman. Or I guess, just a woman, young or old.
Maybe I've just seen too many movies, or been too influenced by those horror stories - women traveling solo who are raped, killed, kidnapped, harassed. Maybe it's not really like that?
Maybe I have no reason to be afraid of crossing red states. Maybe I shouldn't be afraid of the south. But I am visibly not white... and I wonder.
Isn't it terrifying to think that when you are driving, even though you are in a closed space - your vehicle - you are still incredibly vulnerable? People can see you. People can follow you. If they want to and are determined enough, they can get to you. It's no protection, really.
I've been on the road a couple of days, and I love it so far. I try and wear sunglasses when I stop for gas or to stock up on groceries or to venture into towns or cities. My problem is that when I am scared or lost, I look scared or lost. The sunglasses help.
One thing though, I keep passing by this janky old station wagon. It's a really dilapidating vehicle and each time I see it, it looks like it's got a new ailment. The paint scratched off on one day. A busted headlight the other day. A suspicious human sized cargo wrapped in a cloth, tied to the hood one day.
Other than the fact that I'm actually worried that that mysterious object might have been a human body, the driver keeps bothering me.
He'll speed up to drive side by side my car, and there's nothing I can do when he does that. He'll leer over at me and sweat and giggle. The worst thing is that I can see he has a wife and two young children. Like I said, there's nothing I can do about it. Even when there are only two lanes on the road, he'll drive in the lane meant for oncoming travel to ogle and harass me.
The road feels safe on those long stretches when no one's around, but once there's someone, it feels like all safety is an illusion, and for as long as I am visible, I am public property.
I can't wait til I get to the coast so I can finish this trip and get back. It's worth it, but it feels gross sometimes.
Dear Emily,
ReplyDeleteThank you for your blog post. I've been writing a travel blog of my own and stumbled upon yours through many clicks, as often seems to happen when I spend too much time on the Internet. I've had this same lurking sense of vulnerability my whole trip. The questioning eyes when I'm eating at a diner alone late at night--some of concern, sometimes men who look at me expectantly.
I must say I do feel more powerful in my car though. I feel that the people in the lanes next to me don't give me a second glance, or maybe I just don't look over at them. People do not notice that there is a woman driving next to them. They just notice the car model and the license plate.
My brother and I used to always see how many different state license plates we could count on the highway. That's all that we become on the road--a state. It's funny how that becomes the identifier. The image on a state's license plate is in a way my primary impression of the place. I know that Wisconsin is America's Dairyland because it is engraved on the bottom of the slab of metal. I don't mind that people see me as just New York. Because then I do not have to be worried about being perceived as a helpless damsel.
She’s been driving for hours and she needs a break. Hannah pulls off the highway and into the nearest gas station. There’s something comforting about the little convenience store attached: a feeling of familiarity lingers in the smell of burnt coffee in the air, the overpriced snacks that line the cramped aisles, the few regional knick-knacks piled next to the cash register. “Try Granny’s local oatmeal cookies!” Says a handmade sign covered in dust. “Made fresh daily.” She’s farther away from home than she’s ever been, but there are still all the brands one expects to see for sale in this generic little store. Hannah buys a Snickers and fifteen dollars of gas from the attendant who is too distracted by a WWE match to look her in the eye. The lack of human contact is starting to get to her. She never expected to feel so alone.
ReplyDeleteA red station wagon pulls in across from her as she pumps the gas and a woman steps out. Hannah tries a weak smile in her direction, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she does. It’s hard to tell behind the sunglasses. Nevermind. It’s reassuring to see another woman alone on the road. She’s seen families, squabbling couples, men, so many truckers on the road, but very few women. This woman seems to be around her age, maybe a few years older, and Hannah feels safer suddenly. Maybe if someone else is doing the same thing, this crazy cross country trip alone, it isn’t as dangerous as they say. Or if it is, it’s a manageable risk, or at least one that’s worth it. Her stomach turns in disgust at the fact that she needs to consider the risk of being alone as a woman on the road, and the once perfect dream of a road trip she had planned for so long sours a little more.