Terminus

It was like a scream erupting from my chest, hundreds of birds taking flight all at once and murmuring around and around in the sky. “Did you know I drove my mother to Pennsylvania?” I imagine I’ll say casually later. “It wasn’t bad, just a little long.” I’ll lie and lie and not a single person will ever know what I have seen.

There’s something so violent about being the only one holding everything in. The whole world was carrying on so sweetly and we were precisely fourteen hours from me being able to take a full breath. I wanted the outside to feel the wrath of what I was cradling in my ribs. I wanted the world to explode around us while she yelled at me to get into another lane. The fences to topple over in a line like little army men.

—

“Ma’am?” I looked up at the flight attendant and gave her a smile. I was grateful she’d broken my reverie. She was waiting for an answer.

“Oh yes, may I have a Sprite and a double rum and Coke?” I was wavering, and I waited for her to say something back, but she only nodded and went on to the next row. I tried to close my eyes and calm down.

—

My mother’s hands are sometimes whips, sometimes bats, and sometimes, almost soft. I’m gripping the steering wheel, trying not to react to anything.

The mountains are moving downward as we drive up them, the railing looks frail. Everything looks frail from up here. My shoes are suddenly hurting my feet.

“So I guess you’re angry then?” Aggravation blossoms in my chest.

Her face gets red. I guess she wanted a daughter that understood.

—

The sunlight from the window was bothering me, and I didn’t have very many options. I could close the window, and sit in near darkness, or I could just leave it open and face the bright light so I could watch the passing farms and trees underneath us.

Nothing felt like the right answer. I wanted to go home after the trip, after leaving my mother in another state and fleeing three days early. I was losing it. I was being flung from place to place, and, unlike driving, this plane trip was one way and wouldn’t let me off until we’d reached our destination. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe the decision to head home early needed to be set in stone for me. If I was in a car, I’m sure I’d constantly be getting phone calls and pleas to come back to Pennsylvania.

—

Furniture was strewn across the yard, an unwilling unpacking of our family history for the neighbors to see.

No one emerged from their houses when there was yelling outside, especially in a posh neighborhood. I watched, frozen from the sidelines. Maybe if I stood still enough I’d wake up and realize none of this was real. Maybe the movers would stop moving. Maybe the Lamb’s Ear plants wouldn’t have been accidentally trampled.

The world seemed to pour itself over me. A cleansing, a burning, a broken table leg, a rush. Words commingled from the inside and outside of our house. A squirrel watched, teetering from a tree, unsure and watching me.

—

“We’ll be landing in ten minutes.”

I could feel my stomach drop. I had no more excuses to leave my phone on Airplane Mode. I held the arm rests tightly, unwilling to open my eyes yet.

It seemed so easy before - to keep going along the path, to keep saying yes, to drive and fly and run and then suddenly, I guess, eventually land.