Ode to Liberation
Almost home. California never seemed so far away, especially after having driven for two days already, but I’m almost there. The sunset whizzing by is a blurry Monet, almost as if someone had used a filter on Mother Nature herself, and I think it’d make for a great photo, but the open road is forcing me to pay attention to it. So I do. Keep driving, don’t look back.
Infant daughter asleep in the back seat snuggled up in her purple blanket, oblivious to our situation or my apparent attempt at breaking the sound barrier. I should slow down. My mother asleep in the passenger seat next to me, brow furrowed, and I can tell she’s not sleeping well. I may never have a good night’s sleep again. Keep driving, don’t look back.
Hot, angry tears gently caress my cheeks, my chin. I swipe them away, accidentally touching the bruise by my lip that has blossomed towards my jaw line. There’s no time for that now, I whisper to myself, gripping the steering wheel a little bit tighter. The empty road now a ribbon of moonlight winding through the New Mexico desert somewhere on the 10 freeway. That life is behind me. He. Is. Behind me. All the while I keep thinking to myself: Keep driving, don’t look back. Keep driving, don’t look back.