Crosstown Traffic

I felt fear last night as I drove across Los Angeles to the calm suburban oasis of Thousand Oaks. I thought of my younger brother's description of how he used to get from place to place when he lived in the City of Angels. Rule number one, he insisted, was "Avoid Impact." As for how he was able to navigate the vast maze of freeways and connectors that make up the streets of LA, he said that he simply stayed "in my ruts." He was able to get to all the places he needed (coffee, movie theaters, work) and the rest was just excess. All those highways were someone else's headache, not his.
Last night they became mine. Armed with a Google map and a passing familiarity with the general locations of my destinations, I set out. The daylight hours provided some comfort, since the direction of the sun gave me constant verification of the credibility of the signs on the road and the map in my hand. From the back seat, my son looked up periodically to offer his encouragement. He didn't know that I was driving through a massive flashback.
Many years ago, I went on what was to be my last bender in the Phoenix, Arizona metro area. Phoenix and Los Angeles have a great deal in common when it comes to sprawl, and a working knowledge of the placement of suburbs and county lines makes navigation much easier. Driving a rental car from one side to the other with an addled brain and impaired judgement made this a nearly impossible chore. I remember parking in the lot of the hotel in Mesa, Arizona with the fan on high, the interior lights on, the stereo blaring and my Avis local area map draped across the steering wheel. I sat for a moment or two, imagining just how fortunate I had been.
Last night,driving through the valley, I thought again of that night. Then it had been survival. Now it was a simple matter of negotiating a few turns here and there, and keeping my eyes out for the right exit. My son didn't know anything about this. He was too busy drifting off to sleep. Dad will get us home.