The Heart of Turnpike

Introduction - Thomas and Liberty

On the south side of town, Thomas was gripping the steering wheel tighter and tighter as Turnpike loomed in the distance. It had been five years since he had sent his town, and he could have gone another five without a second thought. So much had changed by this point that the thought of the little town made his stomach churn and his eyes burn with long-held tears.

As he drew closer, he knew the town hadn't changed much. He could still picture the streets, lined with cobblestones and red flower pots. He could still count the number of bars, liquor stores and "vintage" shops, and also the vacant buildings that had been abandoned for so long. The Michigan town was just like any other old industrial town, struggling to build back up after the fall of the nearby car factory.

Meanwhile, on the north side of town, Liberty drew closer to Turnpike and further from her precious escape, Detroit. What should have been three hours felt like six. Her speedometer, though legally could have hit seventy in this rural stretch, never left sixty. She checker her blind spots for the third (maybe fourth) time int he past mile, even though she hadn't seen another car int eh past ten miles. She hated being behind the wheel of any car the past five years; even being a passenger made her heart race.

Liberty did not have any music playing in her car. She was not singing, was not dancing, was not talking on the phone. She was staying as steady as she could, even though her heart was racing faster than usual as she got closer to the town's limits. 

On the other side of town, Thomas pulled over just outside the population sign. His car was running as he took another deep breath but nothing was calming his shaking. He swore at himself under his breath, contemplating turning around and running further and further away.

This was the same feeling he had when the accident happened. This was his greatest fear. Thomas hadn't eaten all day, but he still felt he could vomit. His hands were shaking, and his knuckles ached from gripping the wheel too tightly. The soft ground did nothing to soothe he throbbing fingers, clenched in fists, now covered in mud.

His chest burned like a fifth of vodka and an exploding airbag. He felt like he had hit a brick wall, or rather the fountain int own square. The earth did not smell like earth. It was blood and oil. Burning rubber and scorched steel. It was the fire and brimstone of the hell he had been living these past five years. His emotions were Jessica's smile, and with it, every good and bad memory