It only takes two hours to Nevada.
…
Hello Heaven, you are a tunnel lined with yellow lights
On a dark night.
Yayo, Lana Del Rey
Lydia doesn't think as she drives down the highway, her foot pressing the pedal dangerously close to the floor of the car. She only acts, her mind in some sort of transient place between home and Vegas, between the crashing whiskey-drunk of loneliness and the too many glasses of wine high of what the good life surely must be.
Her friends will meet her in Vegas, and she isn't so sure of that but really, what is waiting for her at home? Not Lizzie, not Jane, not even Mary. There's something in Las Vegas, and maybe it's too many glasses of champagne and not enough boys to kiss, never enough. But it's something.
Is it the journey that keeps her high and anticipatory or the destination itself? She is reminded of childhood vacations to all sorts of places. Was it Disney Land that excited her, or the drive down the highway? Was it a few days in New York that left her so inspired at the age of eight, or the few hours up in the air with nothing to buoy her back down to earth?
It's the driving at night as Lydia creeps closer to Vegas that inspires her the most. While she felt hopeful and young as the sun set, now she feels that tenfold. The lights that fly past her as her speed looms dangerously close to reckless driving reach out and touch her, their yellow glow licking her skin in a manner that is both ethereal and rejuvenating, deadly and glorifying.
If the trip there was so refreshing, how will she feel on the way back?