The Transcendence of a Roadside Piss
My life changed forever at a rural exit along Interstate 44. I was seven years old, and I had to pee. We were on a long drive to visit my grandparents, and I had downed a Mello Yello just before we left. I couldn’t hold it any longer.
But it was late at night, and we were in the middle of nowhere. So my dad pulled off at the next exit ramp. The graveled shoulder crunched beneath the tires as he slowed to a stop. Hastily, just before my bladder exploded, I swung open the car door, pulled down my pants, and arced my stream into the tall grass.
And that’s when it happened: I looked up. For the first time in my life, I saw a night sky filled with starlight. The black canvas of night had been splatter-painted with stars. I