Let’s Get Out Of This Country

The sun was beating down on me through the windshield of the vehicle and I could feel every bump of the railroad tracks through the seat as we passed over them on a hazy early summer afternoon. The longing to just leave, pick a new direction and hope to end up once again home rose thicker than the humid air. “Let’s go, just go.” I wanted to go home, hours away. 
My companion is sensible, too much so. “What will you wear? We have nothing packed.”
“We will go to the stores and buy new clothes,” I exclaimed. When we got home, everything would be bountiful. I liked the outfit I wore, a fuchsia shrug over a grey strappy sleeveless top and a lightweight black skirt that fell just below the knee, paired with studded stone ballerinas. My shoulder length black hair was swept up in a loose chignon and my eyes were concealed by an oversize vintage pair of sunglasses. I could not keep the tears from falling behind them, hoping my companion would not notice. 
“We could get packed. In an instant,” I appealed. I pointed a manicured finger toward the window. “I want to go east.”
We rode in an uneasy silence, unsure what to do. Sometimes the fulfillment of the heart’s deepest yearnings. 



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