The yellow lines on the highway sped by in a blur, and we flew through the night, and we felt free. But we weren’t, and we knew it. We were running away from something, and running away was never the path to freedom. I thought about telling John to turn back. I thought about suggesting1 we pull aside. Maybe we could build some strength on the shoulder. I could see the desperation in John’s eyes. He wanted to get away more than he wanted me.
“We can slow down now,” I said shakily.
“I’m fine. I can handle myself,” John replied.
The signs on the highway came and went. Faster. Faster.
“We should decide on where we’re going. I’ll find us a place to sleep tonight and we’ll continue tomorrow.”
My words rode the gale right out his window. I knew he wouldn’t stop, but it was still worth a try.
“Let’s just drive,” he exclaimed. “The night is young, the air is crisp, and the thrill is free!”
Defeated, I took my eyes off the road. Quickly, John glances in my direction. One. Two. Three times, as if the whipping wind lashed his face and told his playfulness to sit down.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” The dashboard faintly casts John’s face in an amber glow. “You’ve done all that you needed to. Let me control the present.”
The engine hummed as John tightened his grip on the wheel. John murmured, “‘Who controls the present controls the past,’” as if steering the car meant steering our lives as well—or the story we’ll tell about it later.
“I’ve got us,” John said steadily.
On this road to a new life, John went from “me” to “us.” I thought running could never lead to freedom, but now I wondered if standing still was worse. With our restraints fading in the rearview, we surrendered to the unknown. His shoulders were freedom enough for us both.
“But it’s up to you. We can turn around.” He paused. “Are you sure you’re ready?” The stilled yellow lines opened into broken white.
The golden city lights shone in the distance. I was ready. Why now? I’d waited so long that the motion alone felt dangerous.
“I don’t feel fully prepared,” I admitted, “but I know I am. I’ll go wherever you take us, but I’m just worried I won’t fit in.”
“You won’t,” John said, without hesitation. “You’ve always been set apart.”
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Prompt from “Complete the Story” journal.