When I Was Whole (And When I Fell Apart)

2 - Deux

        The car's rubber tires once again ran over a pothole on the newly wet road, making the entire vehicle let out a violent shudder as Laurence yelped, jumping in his seat at the sudden movement. He squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the moment their car would collide with the nearby trees lining the concrete, and yet as the seconds passed, he realized that they were still driving, farther and farther away from their little home in the suburbs.

        His mother sat in the front seat, hands gripping the leather steering wheel, a line across her lips as she checked the speedometer, smiling, then frowning as her eyes drifted towards the dangerously low fuel gauge. Ignoring the pit of dread pooling in his stomach, Laurence shifted in his seat, finding a comfortable position amongst the cardboard boxes stuffed tightly in the backseat, haphazardly taped and labeled.

        Elisabeth sat further front, next to the baby silently dozing inside his light-blue patterned car seat, worn from years of disuse, and growing more weathered with each child that sat in its plush comforters.

        She stared blankly out the window as the car shook with each slight movement, earphones drowning out the sound of rain pattering against the side windows.

        Laurence was tempted to steal the iPod resting on her right thigh, playing one of the hundreds of songs she seemed to have on that little metal box, but felt his throat close up when he realized she was staring straight at him, an eyebrow cocked up with a knowing look.

        "Don't." She said, shifting her eyes to turn back to the window as the rain continued to pour down the glass panes.

        He huffed, with all the petulance a six-year-old could muster. "I'm bored, Lizzie. There's nothing to do here."

        She let out an indignant groan, sitting up from her seat to remove her earphones. "Not my problem." And the conversation was cut short.

        He pouted in retaliation, to which she shot him another icy glare, forcing him to wilt in his seat and accept defeat.

        The minutes ticked by like clockwork. Desperate to quell the rising boredom trickling into his mind, he reached into his backpack to shuffle around in search of the Nintendo Gameboy that Elisabeth received the Christmas before. It was the one he'd snatched from her wooden night desk the morning of their departure, left forgotten amongst half-filled boxes and scattered packing peanuts.

        But it was there, next to it, that left his breath hitching in his throat, the world spinning like a torrent as he let his eyes rest upon the pictures of a man, now buried 6 feet underground, and his daughter. Laurence's eyes lingered on an image spotted with stickers—Elisabeth's grin was infectious as she grinned at the camera lens, a familiar arm draped around her shoulders.

        They had an unspoken rule in the house, so he tore the picture from its frame and threw it in the trash. Like it hadn't existed at all.

        The car took a turn, making a right onto tamer roads, no longer flanked by vehicles left and right. The sound of rumbling engines faded into the distance as they drove towards an emptier lane, all grass, and plains for miles ahead. The bustling streets were now filled with empty quiet, that line between rural and urban beginning to blur with each passing sign.

        It was better than the dawning realization that as their little home grew farther and farther from view, their new home, foreign as it was, awaited them only three hours away. That his life, the one he'd known, would be ripped away from him at age six, that he'd have to live not only without a father but without a place to truly call home.

        His mother pulled into a gas station, and Laurence felt bile rising in his throat.

        The screen in his hands remained black, its pixelated words lingering as though anticipating a response. He pressed "YES", getting lost in that digital world of Mario Kart like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

        And perhaps, maybe, it was.