In The Car

In The Car

My dad is driving. My dad always drives when we’re in Germany. Outside my window cars are whooshing by at great speed. My dad loves driving on the Autobahn. We come to Germany about once a year, the whole family. Thorin is here too. The two of us are sitting in the back seat, like we used to, when we were kids. It feels crammed. It’s weird, to be here with my family. I didn’t want to come, but my mom has guilted me into it. “Grandma is sick, and might not be around forever. This might be the last time we see her”, my mom has reminded me. My mind feels dull at the thought. I’ve lost the dissolving during the plane ride here, and with it most of my sense of what I want, and what’s worth doing. Which, I guess, is better than reading my family’s minds.

My mother is complaining. Her voice sounds shrill. She has been complaining all morning. The AirBnb isn’t quite right, in fifteen different ways. No coffee filters, and not enough toilet paper. Dog hairs on the couch. The knives are dull, and the water glasses are too small. Nothing quite fits us and everything is off. Everything does feel off, not just to her. I think that it is maybe Germany that doesn’t quite fit us anymore. I could feel it when we got off the airplane. The light is all wrong, grey, monochrome. And there’s something in the air that weighs on you. All the people seem… weighed down. I’m doing my best to tune out my mom’s voice.

It’s odd to be in such a grey spot, after last week’s intensity. Like coming down from a really long psychedelic trip. I’m exhausted, and part of me is embracing the break. Another part of me is bored, bored, bored and screaming for the intensity to come back. Except that the screaming is very dull. Muffled. And far away.

We went to the supermarket early in the morning, to procure the missing toilet paper and coffee filters. German supermarkets are small, and everything comes in reasonably sized packages. There is something very contained about the culture here. Like everyone has learned not to be too expressive. Going shopping took longer than we expected and now we’re running behind schedule. Which is giving my mom another thing to complain about. She’s urging my dad to drive faster. “We’re late Wolfgang“, she says. “Could you go any slower?” I’m already going five over the speed limit”, my dad says in a reasonable tone. My mom looks at him with barely contained fury, as if she can’t quite believe how quintessentially German he is. Thorin and I are quiet in the backseat. We know not to get involved when they’re like this.

Outside Thorin's window the landscape is flying by. The area we’re driving through feels industrial. Lots of concrete block buildings and factory bits. I wonder what happened to the dissolving. I’m a little bit unsure if I miss it. There was something meaningful about it. And connected. But then again, I was maybe skirting the edge of madness. Overinterpreting some random phenomena. Like a very vivid, compulsive daydream. It seems way better to have my functioning back. Better to focus on what’s real and in front of me. Which, in this case, is this Germany trip I have to get through.