A Long Drive

I always left Melbourne after work on Fridays,  often sneaking out a little early to try and avoid the long lines of traffic which always lead out of the city at the beginning of the weekend. Once I  made it through the congestion and onto the freeway, I would wind down the windows and press the accelerator to the floor, checking the time - 2.5 hours to go, and counting. 

The first half hour was always the worst, as the roads were still clogged with commuters and city folk heading out to fashionable weekend destinations nearby. As we got closer to the middle of nowhere, however, the traffic thinned and, depending on how early I'd managed to escape Melbourne, I was often one of the only cars on the road. 

Sometimes, depending on the time, I would stop at the same little wayside stop for some hot chips, juggling them and the steering wheel as the towns skipped merrily by. 

Hours passed, and eventually, as the sky began to darken, a familiar green exit sign would appear and I would swing the wheel to the left, stepping gently on the brakes. The township I was entering was almost as well-known to me as my final destination, and the familiar signs and shopfronts were a comfort - a reminder that things rarely change out here. 

At this point, I would pull over and make a final call, before the rolling hills made mobile-phone reception an impossibility. "Where are you?" the voice on the other end would say, and I would smile. "I"m nearly there. Do you need me to pick up anything?". "No", the voice always said, "Just keep coming. We'll see you soon". 

Driving through the town, I turned onto a little road without a signpost, but it didn't matter - I didn't need directions anymore. This road was narrow and winding, with trees crowded around the fence-line and wide paddocks beyond. Ramshackle farmhouses appeared infrequently on its edges, and their little flickering lights were often the only other signs of life. The constant bends and turns could have been worrying to someone who was driving the road for the first time, but to me they were familiar and welcoming, and I felt that even if I should close my eyes they would carry me on. 

Often, as I got closer, people would raise their hand in greeting as I drove past - farmers putting their animals in the home paddock for the night or mothers out for a walk in the twilight. They knew my car, and they knew where I was headed, and they smiled and waved - later to go home and say to their families "I saw young Alice heading up the road tonight". It's that kind of place, where everyone knows your name and your business, and after the cold anonymity of the city it feels almost like you've entered a different world. 

At last I would round the final bend and see up ahead a gatepost so familiar that I would know it's every line and contour in the dark. I would turn slowly into the long driveway, bumping over the stones, and as I negotiated the puddles and potholes the dog would begin to bark and the porch-lights would flick on. Parking the car under the old elm trees, I would turn the engine off, leaving the keys in the ignition (there was no fear of theft here), and walk across the lawn to the front door, spying through the flyscreen the kitchen table with something delicious already waiting - noone goes hungry here. Mounting the steps, I would swing open the door and step inside, my shoes already abandoned on the edge of the veranda. "Hello darling", my mum always said, "how was the drive?". 

Welcome home. 

Alice x 

P.S. For words and pictures about "A Long Drive" check out other people's take on the theme at Meet Me At Mikes!