headspace: a collection of short stories & prose

the escape

(The aesthetic of this story is inspired by the song On Our Way by Lana Del Rey) ♡

Aged, rusted gas stations with faded red tops and "two for $5" posters in the yellowed windows. A rainbow of road signs, some decorated with graffiti, gleaming in headlight after headlight. Billboards here and there, advertising the newest, cheapest fast food special or the services of some obscure company.
"In an accident? Dial 999-9999 now."

The familiar Chevrolet sped along the open highway. From the outside, it was just another automobile among the countless others, with its only distinguishing feature being the small dent on the bumper that stood out like a lone dimple. But as its loyal passenger, I lived in a different perspective.
To my right, the same highway landmarks passed by over and over again through the window. Sign, gas station, sign, gas station...
To my left, on the other hand, sat the man that I loved. Hair ruffling in the tireless wind that flew through the slightly open window, hands resting on the smooth leather of the steering wheel. His eyes watched the endless road ahead, almost dreamily, before they shifted to meet my own gaze. A soft, lazy smile before turning back to the road.

There were remnants of the past couple of days around me. Styrofoam fast food cups in each of the cup holders. A tube of lipgloss and a pack of gum poking out of my purse. The radio on, playing a notch too loud. Neither of us knew quite where we were going, and frankly, we didn't mind. We were simply just going away, following the stretch of road and infinite night sky, dotted with stars, planets, and dreams.
I peered out of the window and up at the crescent moon that hung above the stream of cars. It stood out against the artificial lights that surrounded us, almost as if it was promising us something. But then again, what could truly be promised to a couple of kids on the run?
But in my eyes, there wasn't a problem, or a worry, or a trouble. There was nothing more perfect than this moment. Nothing more perfect than the sound of the tires against the road, or the old sweatshirt of his that I was wearing, or the content look on his face. Nothing was more free than this endless American path of asphalt that carried us away, away, away.