We drove and drove for miles, for days and weeks on end. Running from “Them”, from the nameless, faceless Them that tracked our every move and were closing in all the time. All those years ago, travelling with her up and down the map, wondering how she had the money to keep buying gas, and what would happen to us if the car broke down. We stayed in shelter after shelter, vagabonds, gypsies under duress. I never saw Them, and neither did anyone else. But she knew They were there. So we fled for our lives, crossing state lines, she wondering if they were close now, if her daughter’s young, ignorant slip-up in a car that was clearly bugged, “Look, mom! Welcome to Texas!” had tipped Them off; me wondering if anyone in the world had any idea where I was. Of course, no one did. There was no cavalry coming to rescue me. I’d have to do that myself, somehow. But I couldn’t leave her. She needed me. There was no one else.
I’m grown now, living my own life, but I sometimes wonder if I’ll be in that car forever.
