Beep beep beep

From the car, I watch the mountains towards the lake disappear into the clouds. They're sliced off. The peaks have vanished. They're somewhere. Suspended.

As I drive, the music stays at the highest possible volume. Like when I was about twenty and had just gotten my license, it must be deafening. I've made a playlist with various Italian singers chosen with the help of a couple of friends. Their combined age is mine.

In the Spotify playlist, there are all those singers that my peers hate. When I'm with them, they tell me it's not music. They seem like old people incapable of staying alive. 

While the songs play, I try as little as possible to feel the sensation that reminds me that the world around me doesn't exist. That it has no substance for me. I concentrate on driving, I concentrate on the songs. I look around and try to think as little as possible.

As I look for parking, I hope it's as easy as possible to park the car. I've never learned to drive well. Driving has always bored me and whenever I happen to be with someone who enjoys doing it, I very willingly let them drive.

Usually, it's women who put up with me. When they drive, they hate my music. Actually, they hate it regardless, but in the car, it's even more evident. If I have to choose anyway, I choose not to have to drive. 

In this case, I spend my time looking out, seeing all those lives pass by. Seeing the river that has risen. Seeing the meadow where people lie in the sun in summer, disappearing into the high water.

Having arrived at the parking lot, the maneuver is annoying, but doable. Doable thanks to the various sensors they've filled my car with. Beep beep beep beep beep. Beep beep beeeep beeeep beep.

It always seems to me that my car is insulting me. It doesn’t trust me. It starts again with its beep beep beep beep beep. Beep beep beep beep beep. Beep beep beep beep beep.

Silence. When it's silent it worries me even more. I don't know if I've actually found the right maneuver or if my car hopes that I'll crash into the car behind me and end it all forever.

Parking Lot. I get out. I look at the city with all those streets. I know the city streets are a tunnel. I’m claustrophobic. Every street leading to a point distant from my car is an extra piece of road to travel backward to get back to the car.

The car is a safe place. A mobile safety space that allows me to return to my absolute safe space: my home.

I always notice that the return journey is quick and pleasant. I could find it free on the way there and completely clogged with traffic on the way back, but on the way there it would seem endless.

I walk along the streets, memorizing every step and reviewing the route in my head. While they talk to me, I smile and reply as coherently as possible, trying to follow what they’re saying. 

But in reality, all my attention is on the road, on the position of my car, on how I could get back to it as quickly as possible if I felt bad.

We walk in even narrower streets. Characteristic streets. Those terrible little streets that Italian historic cities are full of. Every small, narrow street is a new turn in the labyrinth that I must memorize to get back to the car.

We sit and look at the lake. Around me are even larger spaces. The contradiction is that those spaces are so enormous and indefinite. 

There is no dimension, no way to control them. The road from here to the car. I recalculate. The square behind me opens up and has some stairs not far away that cut across the church square and go straight to the car.

It's half past three. The time the store opens for which we came. We just have to go to the store, change the dress we're here for. A size up. We need a size up.

We go. We change the dress. And the road to the car becomes straight. It becomes wide. Every face around me smiles at me. Every person knows that it's over for that day. I just have to get to the car, get in, and go home.