Working Backwards - Earlier in the day
We headed west with the rising sun behind us. I sat behind the wheel of a car that already refused to make this trip once, coaxing and pleading for this time to be the time things worked out. The interstate spread before us, a ribbon of grey streaking the green. Even in November, these parts of Florida are green. The cold hadn't set in yet.
Two lanes of traffic headed in one direction. Pine trees, palm trees and other bits and pieces formed a wall, hiding the eastbound lanes. It seemed as though the road back didn't exist, then. We were stocked with flavored cough drops and throat spray. He hoped to continue with the improvement in his health, but feared the flu would take him again before the trip ended.
Morning sun shifted to afternoon. Cruise control guided us ever west, through places where engines once melted, past hidden handguns and holes in soda cans. Memories of things that might never have been pleasant suddenly took on a hint of fondness, and I waved to the town where a car full of kids once stopped to take pictures of moss.
Halfway, by my calculations, I pulled off the interstate. The exit was named like a softcore pornstar, but that didn't stop us from parking for a few minutes behind the service station and walking along the moved line of grass. It didn't stop him from thinking about taking pictures of the building squatting off to the side, but something did stop him from actually taking the pictures.
We shared a cigarette though we quit smoking months ago. We cheat more often than we'd like to think, but less than you'd imagine. When we smoke, we can rarely finish an entire cigarette alone. Even together, we fail sometimes. I sat on the curb and rubbed out the glowing tip then scattered the tobacco on the ground. Back in the car, he took the wheel and I slipped my nose in a book I shouldn't have been reading.
Time passed, some time passed.
The slight undulation of the earth snuck into small rolling hills. The falls, gentle though they may be, still turned my stomach. We had arrived.
Two lanes of traffic headed in one direction. Pine trees, palm trees and other bits and pieces formed a wall, hiding the eastbound lanes. It seemed as though the road back didn't exist, then. We were stocked with flavored cough drops and throat spray. He hoped to continue with the improvement in his health, but feared the flu would take him again before the trip ended.
Morning sun shifted to afternoon. Cruise control guided us ever west, through places where engines once melted, past hidden handguns and holes in soda cans. Memories of things that might never have been pleasant suddenly took on a hint of fondness, and I waved to the town where a car full of kids once stopped to take pictures of moss.
Halfway, by my calculations, I pulled off the interstate. The exit was named like a softcore pornstar, but that didn't stop us from parking for a few minutes behind the service station and walking along the moved line of grass. It didn't stop him from thinking about taking pictures of the building squatting off to the side, but something did stop him from actually taking the pictures.
We shared a cigarette though we quit smoking months ago. We cheat more often than we'd like to think, but less than you'd imagine. When we smoke, we can rarely finish an entire cigarette alone. Even together, we fail sometimes. I sat on the curb and rubbed out the glowing tip then scattered the tobacco on the ground. Back in the car, he took the wheel and I slipped my nose in a book I shouldn't have been reading.
Time passed, some time passed.
The slight undulation of the earth snuck into small rolling hills. The falls, gentle though they may be, still turned my stomach. We had arrived.