Every night, for as far as I can remember, as I lay in my bed trying to go to sleep, it would be the cars rushing by that would lull me to sleep. It wasn't the busy, city street life...but the steady lone cars rushing to go home that would speed by on the freeway behind my house. I grew up to that sound, and where ever I go, where ever I sleep, I find comfort in that sound. Its as if it's telling that everything is okay for the moment, the cars are still going.
In my room, back in Californa, at my childhood house, I have learned the different sounds of the rushing vehicles. I have heard the sounds of screeching breaks and the loud thud as an accident unfolds and the faint sounds of sirens growing louder as they came closer. I have heard the sounds of helicopters landing to airlift the poor souls who were involved in accidents. I have heard the loud sounds the rice rocket cars make. I have heard the sounds of drag racings going in the late hours of the night. I have heard the sounds of loud hip-hop and rap music playing as the cars go rushing by and the loud honk of the truck drivers as they make their deliveries. As loud as it may have seem, it really wasn't. It was more of a background noise that subconsciously reassured me that the world was still moving, and time was still making it's steady pace around the clock.
No matter where I go, whether it be here, in the mainland or even a different country...when ever I wake up to the cars rushing by, for a moment, I feel like a little child again, laying in my room back in my happy childhood home, with my mom and dad a few doors down, my dog sleeping right beside my window, my brother and sister in their own rooms, my cat prowling somewhere hunting, and a happy feeling in my heart knowing that everything is as it's suppose to be.
"Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose."-From the television show The Wonder Years