What a difference a decade can make

I think I’ve kept this inside long enough (read: the statute of limitations has expired). It’s time to tell some high school stories.

My friends and I weren’t always the most well behaved citizens. We may have bent an occasional law or two. But damn we had fun. And, in retrospect, I apologize to the residents of my hometown.

But where to begin?

Ahh, yes, the sink.

Driving through a friend’s neighborhood one summer evening, we happened across the result of a bathroom update. Someone had begun a gut remodel and their old fixtures were at the the curb. A toilet, mirror, lights and a sink sat next to the mailbox, awaiting their fate at the dump. The toilet would have been quite heavy. Mirror? No way I’m messing with that kind of luck. Lights? Boring. That left the sink.

It was the wall mount, white porcelain variety that you’d find in many homes built in the 50’s and 60’s. We quickly picked it up and tossed it in the back seat. For what? No clue.

Without a plan, we cruised around the town with the sink, finding the whole affair to be inexplicably funny. As it grew darker and the novelty of having a bathroom sink wore thin, we needed to do something with it.

It was a very clear night, this I remember. I took the car out into the more rural areas of town and lit out down a long, straight road. Fifty, sixty, then seventy miles an hour. My friend (who comments on this blog from time to time) held the sink out the window as long as he could. At peak speed, he hefted the sink as high as possible and let go. I watched in the mirrors as it fell to the road in exquisite slow motion.

The moment of impact. The porcelain seemed to disintegrate as it ground along the asphalt. A million glittery shards danced in the moonlight, then nothing. Dust. I circled back and drove slowly through the area of destruction. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The piping and hardware must have slid off onto the shoulder. There were no visible pieces. Dust.

I realize how odd it may seem, but seeing that sink obliterated in the light of the moon and taillights will always remain one of the most oddly beautiful sights in my life.


One response to “What a difference a decade can make

  1. It is the type of beautiful shattering experience that can only happen when we are young. No evidence of the disintegration or shards on the side of the road; it is as if it never happened.

    When we are older, we slog through our shatterings almost every day in one way or the other.

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