It amuses me how real wanderlust is. When I was younger, it was a mere plot device - some feeling men mutter about in books when the story called for them to travel. It was as meaningless to me then as the attraction of a woman was.

As I get older, though, I begin to understand it - or, if not understand, at least feel. Spring comes, and with it the warm sun and cool breezes that pull all men outside. More and more now I drive simply to drive. I take the long way around to get to my destination. I roll down the windows, pop in a CD, and just lose myself in the sensation.

So far I’ve been content with short drives. I’ve limited myself to New Hampshire and Vermont; despite the small size of the two states, it’s satisfied me so far. But I know one morning it will get too strong. The wanderlust will pull, and I will be unable to resist. I’ll grab my keys and wallet - nothing else - and get in the car and drive.

I don’t know where I’ll go. Maybe to New York. Maybe Pennsylvania. Maybe further. More likely, I won’t have a direction. I’ll just follow the roads, knowing they’ll lead me somewhere. I’ll know when I get there; and I know what will happen when I get there.

***

I pull up to an old gas station by the side of a small country road. It only has two pumps, and a small building with gray paint peeling off the side. I stop at one of the pumps to fill it up, watching the yellowed radial gauge tick up to $20. No cars pass by the whole time. My wistful attitude from hours on the road doesn’t change.

When I’m done I walk into the store and grab a water. The woman behind the counter is pleasant-looking; perhaps she’s my mother’s age. She looks at me curiously - I guess she doesn’t see many non-locals in the place.

“Hi. How are you?” I set my water down as I spoke. There was no mistaking my New England accent.

“I’m fine. That’s $21.84.” She paused while I handed her the money. “So. Where ya from?”

“New Hampshire.”

She raises her eyebrows. “And what brings you to these parts?”

I look around the store, not knowing what to say. “I’m not sure. The road. This store. You, perhaps.” She raises her eyebrows again, and I know I’m not making sense. “I don’t really know. I guess I came here to go home.”

“Your home is near here?”

“Nah. My home’s in New Hampshire. But I’m going back to it. I just needed to drive first, and I ended up here.” I shrug, and smile.

She finally puts the money in her drawer, and hands me the change. “You have a family?”

“Yeah. I live with my parents and have quite the set of brothers and sisters, all younger. I’ll be home again by tonight. I can’t wait to see them again.”

She smiles and reaches behind the counter. “Here,” she says, handing me four or five lollipops. “Give these to them when you get there. Tell them I said hi.”

I look down at the candies I hold, blinking. “Thank you, muchly. I’ll do that.” I put them in my pocket, trading them for my keys. “It was great meeting you. See ya!”

“You too. Have a safe trip.” I walk out the door as she says, almost too quiet for me to catch: “See ya next time. Someday.”

One last look around imprints the place into my memory before I climb into the car. The radio goes on as I start it up, and Dusty Springfield is singing about a preacher’s boy. Before long I’m on the highway again, singing along as the wind blows through my hair.

The trip home is easy. Five hours pass like one, and I’m back in Claremont before I know it. By the time I get there, evening has set in, and I can smell dinner as I pull into the driveway.

Little feet run out of the house as I park the car. My brother Eli comes right up to me, curious blue eyes wide and excited. “Where did you go? What did you get?” I hand him one of the lollipops, and he runs inside to show it to Mom.

My sister meets me at the door. “So. Where did you go?”

I pause. “I’m not really sure.” She waits for more, but I’m unable to give any. The road, the satisfaction of my wanderlust, defies words.