The Final Ticks: A Collection of Short Stories

Drive

The woman held her hands on the steering wheel of her Mini, staring blankly at the road ahead on the highway. She didn't understand why she kept her foot pounding on the gas pedal repeatedly.

She should turn back and give her daughter a piece of her mind. No, she needed leave. Her daughter was right. She was too stifling. Her little car sped up again, matching the pace of the rest of traffic moving to Chicago.

Her thoughts kept moving backward, from her unknown destination, to the stretch of concrete in front of her, the pile of boxes crammed in her trunk, the house and family she left behind.

How could her daughter — her only child — kick her out like that? It's not like she had anyone else to turn to after the death of her husband. And she even made her keep, babysitting the kids when her daughter and her own husband had to go to work. Did they not repeatedly thank her for her dinners, her help with cleaning around the house, bringing the kids to school and bringing them back home while their parents were away? How could her daughter just throw all that out the window and tell her to pack?

The woman's face grew slack, the corners of her mouth drooping, as she bleakly stared through empty eyes at the road. Her grip on the wheel tightened. Did all her life not matter anymore just because she was over sixty now?

Her thoughts drifted back to the argument that sent her packing. Her daughter's words reverberated in her head.

"You used to be a strong, independent woman!" Used to be? She still was! She knew how to take care of herself! What's wrong with wanting to be with her family now?

"Since Dad died overseas, you've been moping around your house." Of course she would be! What loving wife wouldn't? She loved her husband! He was the best man in the world! Not afraid of anything, willing to take on the dirtiest and toughest jobs. And he loved her with all he had, praising her every chance he got. He's the one who taught her how to cook all those dishes she fed her daughter's family with!

"I'm sure that Dad wouldn't want to see you still moping, seventeen years after his death. You need to move on. And barely getting out of bed each morning in this house isn't helping. You need to get out." Her chin quivered at the thought of her husband. Why would her daughter bring him up? All she wanted was a nice place to stay for the rest of her life, and die surrounded by her family. She's old. She's ready to join him any time.

"Mom, I know you don't want to move, but you need this. The kids need this." The kids? Why are they being brought up?

"They say you moan a lot, and it scares them. They don't know what to do when you just start bawling and moaning in the kitchen or behind the car..." Her husband was a brilliant cook and driver. He was always respectful on the road and always made delicious food. His perogies were to die for. He taught her everything she knew about driving and cooking. He was the love of her life, and she was the love of his. Now he is gone. How could she not start bawling in the middle of driving or cooking, when everything reminds her of him? How could she not start moaning about why God had taken him away from her forever?

She started moaning and tears covered her eyes and fell down her cheeks onto her lap in a steady stream. Now God has taken away her whole family. All of them. Her husband in heaven, her daughter and her family in Milwaukee. And now she is stuck travelling the long, arduous road to Chicago. Her vision fogged up, and she constantly moaned about how cruel God is to her.

The road in front of her curved sharply. She was vaguely aware of the red lights on the cars in front of her moving steadily to her left. Lane changes, maybe. They didn't matter. Not when her husband had died.

Her car flew into the barrier, off the road, and onto the traffic below the bridge.

Her only thought was of her husband and how ready she was to join him.