Interstate Highways

The mountains looked especially tall the day we merged onto I-90 and never got off. They crowded the highway, imposing their peaks onto our little station wagon like broken beer bottles pushed into the sides of our skulls. Our breaths squeezed out of the exhaust pipe until we made it to prairie land; we cranked down the windows and turned up the radio so the music could take a run around the wheat fields before sliding back into the car, content to bounce off the backseat until we reached wherever it is we were going.

One of us suggested we pull onto Route 66 and stop for lunch, but we kept driving, kept smiling, kept squinting into the afternoon sun, our sunglasses tangled in the hair on top of our heads because we wanted to feel the warm wind on our whole faces.  Kept driving until we reached the very edge of the August ocean and kept driving until our feet were tangled in seaweed and kept driving until we could feel the tires grinding against hard-packed sand.

Published at Goon and Darling Do Flash Fiction on July 4, 2012.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s