I first drove to Provincetown during the broiling heat in the summer of 1995.
My best friend & I sputtering up the eastern seaboard in a beat up Nissan Sentra we called "Greek Lightening".
We were young & alive & for 7 hours we sang our hearts out to every song that blasted from that car's tape deck.
Songs about being in love & being free.
Our hearts raced as we crossed the Sagamore Bridge.
On the other side, we snacked on lobster rolls, bought some cheap flip flops & practiced our New England accents.
We could feel something changing.
We could feel Provincetown getting closer.
Highway 6A's last stretch was a long one,
but eventually she delivered us into the arms of Provincetown.
Those next four days were spent outside of my own body & mind.
This was the way I wanted to live my life: unrestricted & unashamed.
We rode bikes to the beach & danced as the sun went down.
We flirted shamelessly.
At night we slept soundly, even with the doors unlocked.
And we greeted each stranger on the street with a 'hello' as they passed on the street.
On the ride home, everything was softer.
Our hearts beat a little bit slower.
We popped in those cassettes again & quietly sang along.
They were the same songs about being in love & being free.
Only this time, we knew what they really meant.
