driving home

Her greyish Honda was steady enough, moreso than her own inner workings. The interstate was comforting somehow, I-20 East towards the coast of South Carolina. It was early. The morning commuters in the big city were encroaching on her space, adding a bit of claustrophobic anxiety. But she didn't blame them. They had lives, had jobs, had things to do, people to see, dreams to lose, too.

It was quiet in the car. No radio, just the steady hum of the engine and a clicking sound that had started sporadically when she crossed the state line. The boy was asleep in the backseat, drooling on his blanket, hat pulled down over his forehead. She knew it was tough on him, packing up and leaving friends and school and homework. That made her smile. He wouldn't miss homework. They would start over, she hoped. And it would be better. Easier. That made her frown. No, not easier. She knew that.

The cars coming onto the freeway from the ramps were whisking around her. She had the cruise control set at just over the speed limit, and she wasn't in a hurry. But they were. She teared up a little. I remember when I was in a hurry. I remember what that bought me. I remember… she thought. Recollected. Sighed.

They were two hours from the coastline. One hundred twenty minutes from whatever was "next" in their lives. No one knew she was coming back home. And she knew that would be okay. And hard. She knew it would be hard.

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One thought on “driving home

  1. James says:

    No one knew….

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