The Cedarville Review 2020

46 | THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW a nap. When I think of her, I know that no car was meant to be driven quite so fast, no human being meant to reach the speed of the gods. limit [in mathematics] = a point or value that a sequence, function, or sum of a series can be made to approach progressively, until it is as close to the point or value as desired. Maybe the best way to protect my brother, to ease my dad’s fears, to hold tightly to Molly is to stay within the limits. To respect them and not push them. To be content. So why do I continue to press against these limits, to resent them, to try to find ways to manipulate them? I think it’s because I’m human. I want to climb closer, closer, closer to that unknowable, un- reachable place of pure speed, unadulterated adrenaline, where I feel like I’m underwater, dry-mouthed, clammy palms, euphoric. Tran- scendent. Immortal. The Spanish poet and essayist Jorge Luis Borges writes about “the great Whoever-It-Is that sets a term, a secret and inviolable end to every shadow, every dream, and every form, that ravels life and knits it up again.” Maybe that great Whoever knew that not all risks were meant to be taken, but still understood that we need to feel infinite, so He carefully wove for us a web of arterial interstates with cloverleaf in- terchanges, sprinkled with reflective signs that wobble in the wind, so that we can try to fly. But He will always have to take his seigniorage, regardless of how immense the cost, and I think sometimes He does it with tears in His eyes, like a father who feels like He’s failed His daughter. That is why the limit still exists, and always will.