Three paces, then four, then five, and you’re in the middle of the road, watching it stretch out in either direction, no cars for as far as you can see, just blacktop and you. And somehow, it manages to make you feel freer than you’ve felt since you were 12 and were allowed to ride your bike around the neighborhood on your own; like nothing in the world can contain you.
It might be a remnant from childhood. The unspoken knowledge that you’re breaking a Rule. That you’re doing something you’re not supposed to do. After all, you don’t just walk out into the middle of the road. That’s dangerous. We all know this. And you certainly don’t just stand there. You cross quickly and move on.
But that one time when you DO just stand there, when you have an opportunity on what is usually a busy road, you stop and look around and maybe, if you’re sure no one is looking, you throw your arms in the air. Maybe even turn around, veering ever so close to spinning, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a precipice, delicately balanced on the cusp of danger and yet in total control. You’re there, just you and the road, and you’re breaking the rules and floating in a space that doesn’t belong to you.
Then a car comes into view, humming along towards you, and your brief, glorious moment of freedom is over.
Everyone should stand in the middle of the road when they get a chance.
