Music is like the soundtrack for life. It can make any experience multitudes greater. I entered downtown Orlando on Orange Blossom Trail. “Days Go By” by Dirty Vegas was playing on the radio. It was the first time I had ever heard it, and it fit the scene perfectly. Big, modern-looking buildings towered in the background as busy traffic lanes full of cars experienced nonstop movement, and the music echoed throughout my cab. Orlando and its city lights felt almost futuristic compared to other parts of Florida I had been in.

One of the interesting things about being in an unfamiliar place is not knowing exactly what the people are about. In familiar places we develop an understanding of how people generally think, or we become comfortable with what we perceive to be happening around us over time. This was wild and exciting Florida, not Wisconsin. It seemed like anything could happen in this place.

Though Orlando was statistically higher in crime than Tampa, I felt less danger in the air. It didn’t have that wild, unpredictable atmosphere, though I’ve been told there are certain pockets of Orlando that are certainly unsafe to be in.

I only went to Orlando a couple of times and ate at a restaurant once but didn’t experience anything too significant. Sometimes being from someplace far away and totally different you are an anomaly — something that just doesn’t belong and stands out. Anyone who had seen me wouldn’t be remotely capable of guessing where I was from, or what kind of environment I grew up in. The same was true for me.

Every chance I got I was driving somewhere. I didn’t know many people in Lakeland and my curiosity about different places kept pushing me forwards. Driving on these roads and highways felt like the closest I’ve ever felt to being free. I thought if I kept moving forward into the new that I wouldn’t ever have to slow down long enough to let anything from the past catch up to me, and things would always be exciting and interesting. Unfortunately, I always had to come back to Ryan’s because of my duties.

Since this was before the days of applications like Google Maps, I had a road atlas that my father used to use to navigate the highways. Occasionally I would have to pull over somewhere and ask a stranger for directions. I was generally well-received.

The farthest north I ever got was Neptune Beach near Jacksonville. The beach was completely empty, probably because it was getting late in the evening. Big, ten-foot tall waves everywhere were crashing against the shore as the most visible thing in the dark I could see was the white water that had been churned up just in front of me. I was surprised that not a single other person was out here to enjoy this environment, but the locals have it anytime and could come back whenever they wanted to.

One of my coworkers named Shailene, a server, was always walking around doing her job with such a stone face and cold eyes. For some reason she called me “Stoner Boy,” even though I wasn’t. Very rarely I’d have something with some of the folks back in the neighborhood but most of what we ever did was drink.

One day Shailene came up to the kitchen window to get her order.

“Shailene, you always look like you want to take a gun and start blastin’ on people,” I said.

“I ain’t in Miami no more,” she said with a straight face and walked away to deliver her order.

I had never been to Miami before, and I started thinking more about it until I decided one weekend that I was going to drive down there.

Driving south to Miami was about a four-hour trip from Lakeland. I definitely had to plan on being gone all day. It was a long, but relatively easy drive. I enjoyed driving through Sebring because they had a very smooth and straight road running through the city that was such smooth driving it felt like you were gliding through the place.

I didn’t arrive in Miami until night, so it wasn’t easy to navigate through the city. Driving through the dark Miami streets, very appropriately, Miami’s own Pitbull came on the radio with a song that didn’t get played much up north called “Oye.”

Oye!

If you broke but you still pimpin’, drinkin’, smokin’, then say

Oye, oye!

If you ballin’ buyin’ bottles, then say

Oye, mami!

It’s interesting how the music changes wherever you go, even within the same state. It can say something about the people you can find there.

Driving through Miami without knowing where I was going, I eventually came to a set of lanes similar to bowling lanes where there was a small gate in the middle of each one that prevented access to whatever was beyond. I looked across a few more lanes where cars were driving through, getting stopped at the gate, and then the gate opened for them.

“Maybe they required some kind of access code, but I don’t have it and there’s nowhere to turn around. Now I’m stuck!” I thought.

Just then, the small gate in front of me opened up, and I continued driving, wherever I was going.

I found a parking spot and got out of my car. Gigantic apartments stood in front of me with unique designs. I heard people on balconies shouting to each other in Spanish, but I couldn’t see anyone because the place was huge and it was dark. The apartment complex was far in front of me yet still nearly filled my vision. I felt far away from home, nearly at the southernmost point of the country where I didn’t know anybody.

When you’re a drifter, there’s no time for loneliness or regrets. You’re always moving towards the next thing, and everything else is beginning to disappear behind you. I stopped at a Denny’s that was basically empty besides another table of three others my age. All of my encounters with danger had caused me to become a bit suspicious, so I started staring at the other table that was on the other side of the eating area from me. One of them noticed me, turned his head towards me and started smiling at me with his teeth showing. I slowly looked away, realizing that these guys were just out having a good time and not paying any attention to me. What was happening to me? Surely there was a cost on my soul for being in this place for so long where it seemed like almost everyone was plotting against me.

Driving through the downtown area, a song by an artist named Mr. Cheeks came on the radio. Near the end of the song, you hear one of the artists say, “We’re not in Miami. We’re in New York.” It was an ironic thing for me to hear my first time in Miami.

The second time I came to the area, I bypassed Miami and headed straight for the Florida Keys. It seemed to take forever driving through the Keys, but finally I made it to Key West, again at nighttime. I got out of my car and walked through a neighborhood for a minute. On the side of the road were a couple of Haitian men sitting on a wall in front of some apartments. It was easy to identify them as Haitian after working with a couple of Haitian sisters and a Haitian meat cutter at Ryan’s. I once caught one of the sisters, Prenante, talking to herself.

“Who are you talking to?” I asked.

“My friend,” she said.

I didn’t say anything else. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know who her “friend” was.

One of the Haitian men noticed me walking through the neighborhood and started making threats towards me, saying something about cutting me. I didn’t say anything and stayed calm, but I kept my eyes on him as I walked by. On my way back, I took a different route back to my car, then I drove up right in front of him and parked and looked out my window at him now that there was a little more balance to the situation. He looked away like he didn’t want anything to do with the situation anymore. That was enough for me.

The sun was already starting to come back up. I had been driving all night in the Keys. Somewhere between the Keys and Miami I found a church and parked alongside it. I figured if anywhere was safe for me to take a nap it would be here. Just as I shut my engines off and prepared to shut my eyes, the church lights turned off. I know it was because daylight was coming, but part of me wanted to believe that God was turning the lights off for me to sleep.

After a few hours of sleep I prepared to make my four-hour journey back to Lakeland. Coming up the entrance ramp next to the Miami downtown area, a song by the artist Ludacris came on. The intro played as I kept elevating to reach the interstate, and at perfect timing, the chorus started up as I got on.

Move, b****

Get out the way

Get out the way, b****

Get out the way

Drivers were speeding, swerving multiple lanes, and cutting each other off. It was like they were going perfectly to the song and its lyrics. Florida definitely had some crazy drivers.

I must’ve put thousands of miles on my car in only weeks. If I hadn’t been there before, I wanted to go there. I did zigzags and crisscrosses all over central Florida. There were many rural areas between larger communities that I traveled day and night, in search of what I didn't know.