At home, our daily interactions are, “Hey, have you seen my knife?” This is typically Ella. “I need to cut down some boxes.”
Or “Good morning, sugar muffin.” This is usually me.
Or we have epic dance parties in the kitchen at 7:00 am while making our way back and forth to the coffee pot. We even have a mutual love of music and we’ll swap songs we think each other would like. “You should download Never Coming Home by Crossfade,” she said.
I replied with, “You should check out Lindsey Stirling.”
Point blank, we get each other.
And I’m thankful to have her back.
Not only because we’re an epic duo, but because everyone needs somebody. Especially when they’re falling apart inside. And who better to help you piece yourself back together than someone you’ve known for practically your whole life.
I decide that I’ll text Ella back later.
Staring at my phone screen for another second, I switch the settings on the iPhone to airplane mode.
Sometimes I think it’s easier to shut out the world. But the funny thing is, you can shut out the world all you want, but it’s not going to make a damn bit of difference. Because even if you do, it’s still going to revolve. It’s always turning and turning and turning.
For now, I need to be alone.
In my car.
With my aching heart.
With my thoughts.
With my music.
Knowing that my world is going to revolve the second I switch my phone back on.
Chapter Three
Mile marker 147.
Three more hours and I’ll be home. I breathe a sigh of relief. I love to drive, but even at times the long hauls are exhausting.
I’ve been on the road so much lately sometimes it feels like one, long never-ending drive.
There are even times where I swear I leave pieces of myself in the mile markers along the highway. It’s like a puzzle. And it’s not until I return home that I put myself back together. I find strength in hearing Kelly Clarkson sing out, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I find hope in the wind because it never stops blowing. And I find the confidence in myself that my ex stole when he made me believe I wasn’t worth anything. It’s like something miraculous happens at the end of all that. When my journey is over I’m whole again.
I’m home.
Home is where the heart is after all.
Or sometimes I think it’s where I leave mine.
I love to travel, but there is no better feeling than coming home.
My mother thinks it’s strange that I love to drive to places. Sometimes I even have moments where I’ll just get in my car and go. I have no destination planned and I don’t need one. The open road takes my mind to different places and I don’t feel like I need an explanation for it. “I don’t know how or why you do this,” she’ll say in scolding tone every time she calls me and I’m in some random place.
My response is always the same. “I need this mom. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
Then she’ll say, “Yeah…yeah.” That is followed by a fifteen minute update on what’s going on with the family that day. But I like hearing her crazy stories about my brother’s friends or how my grandmother miss-pronounced something on the Taco Bell menu. It’s crazy how little things like that can make you laugh.
It’s crazy how little things like that can brighten up your whole day.
For me, the last six months has been nothing but cloudy skies, hail, and blizzards. But I stay firm on my belief that sometimes, life can knock you down. It can beat the living shit out of you. You reach a point where you’re lying mangled and bloody, chained to the ground and there’s huge part of you that feels like you’ll never make out of this situation alive.