Live a Little
Live a Little: On Finding the Courage to Live Comfortably
By Mahailey Oliver
I’m not the kind of girl that usually finds herself in reckless situations. You’d probably find me doing homework, reading a book, or working at most hours. I’m not typically barreling through the night, half-hanging out of a car going seventy miles an hour—but on April 18th, 2018, that’s exactly what I was doing.
It started as a last-minute endeavor for my colleague Evan to submit his late tax forms. We’d just finished the graveyard shift at our residence hall’s front desk. Evan read that, if he dropped his tax forms in the mailbox before the mailman checked it on the 19th, he would be safe. Stupid boy, always flirting with the boundaries. He, our colleague Belinda, and I piled into his car to accompany him to the post office. He dropped his forms in at 12:06—technically too late, but who could stop him?
A song length passed before he asked, “What now? Back home, to our boring lives?”
I did have a class the following morning at 9:30, but…the streetlights of Downtown Nacogdoches were sparking my inner whimsy.
“Let’s go on an adventure,” I caught myself saying from the backseat. Without hesitation, Evan peeled out, taking us southbound out of town—away from the country-themed dance bar, the Mexican restaurants, and the college-kid-crowded nightlife. From the passenger seat, Belinda hooked up her phone to the radio, blaring music to make the tight space devoid of conversation as we drove, drove, drove.
Every few minutes, I discreetly checked Google Maps to see how far we were exploring, feeling like I was in on some kind of secret. No one outside the three of us knew where we were, which fundamentally contradicts how I live my life—my best friend Cherice always knows where I am, even today. But that night…that night I enjoyed being the unknown variable in my life.
Evan opened the sunroof, letting in the night air. I contentedly observed as Belinda held her hands up, making a triangle with her fingers as The Neighbourhood’s “Sweater Weather” lilted through the speakers: Use the sleeves of my sweater, let’s have an adventure. Head in the clouds, but my gravity’s centered…The remaining street lights made shadows slowly dance around her hands, almost to the beat of the music. Despite the beauty of the night, I was beginning to worry about how far out we were driving, but I couldn’t complain. This was my idea.
I started to plan an appeal to go back— Evan had a paper due at ten, Belinda had to open the front desk at eight, the fire alarm could be going off in our residence hall yet again and we wouldn’t be there to help evacuate all the pajama-clad residents— but while I formulated, Belinda unbuckled her seatbelt. Without warning, she plunged herself through the sunroof, hollering in delight. Evan kept a hand on her elbow to keep her grounded.
Mesmerizing. Just mesmerizing. Here’s a girl who fears nothing, I thought. She hasn’t a care in the world about tomorrow. I envied that. Hated how I always worried. Hated that Evan always teased me about missing out on life because I preferred to stay in with Cherice and a good book. Always. He always belittled me. But this time? This time I’d show him.
When Belinda snaked her way back into her seat, she threw me a glance and smile over her shoulder. That confidence— that joy— I wanted that. Her eyes gleamed, urging, “Do It!” Mechanically, I unbuckled. Belinda held my right hand, placing her other hand on the small of my back to guide me up. With my left hand braced against the roof, I emerged.
The sudden sting of cold air against my face at seventy miles per hour felt like an awakening—like jumping into a swimming pool on a hot summer day and feeling the jarring shock of ice water. The music below was lost to the wind. I closed my eyes and raised my head heavenward. When I opened them, the stars—twinkling, giggling—seemed to be smiling with me as we raced through the night. Like Charlie in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, I, too, felt infinite.
I looked forward, realizing that Evan turned off the headlights; from the waist up, I felt the night swallowing me into its voided vacuum of simplicity—shadows of East Texas pine trees dashed by as I threw a laugh into the darkness before slivering back into the car. The steady thumping of the bass pulsed into my wind-whipped torso and eardrums.
I said nothing but felt a comforting sensation radiating from the front seats as I buckled back into my seat. See? I can have fun too. I’m one of you now. Evan flipped the headlights back on as we slowed to turn onto a dirt road. We spent the rest of the night exploring and telling ghost stories every time Evan stopped the car to take a leak, which was frequent. We didn’t make it back to our residence hall until nearly two in the morning, but what a sight we were—flushed faces and wind-whipped hair, drunk on the joy of being young and free for a night.
I lived off of that high for a good fifteen hours or so, until Cherice, Evan, and I were at a football game the following evening. “Let’s get shitfaced at Fuzzy’s after this?” he implored. Cherice and I gave each other a look that only we could decipher—that kind of nightlife wasn’t our scene. We were quiet souls by nature. Besides, Evan tended to drown his sorrows past the point of no return, and neither one of us wanted to play babysitter.
“No, we’re good. We’re going to stay in tonight,” I answered for us.
Evan rolled his eyes. “Figures. You grannies need to live a little. Stop being so scared of life.” That stung more than when I first lifted myself out of his car. Didn’t I prove my mettle? Wasn’t it my idea to go on an adventure in the first place?
Stupid boy. Always driving people away.
That evening, as Cherice and I read The Hobbit from opposite ends of her couch, our cold toes touching under our shared blanket, I realized courage isn’t doing what scares you to have fun. Courage is doing what you enjoy without fear of others’ expectations. I remember that every time I look to the stars, I hear my laughter echo from that night reverberate back to me.
