imagine this: you’re driving in nowhere north texas, norteños on the radio, your aging father in the passenger seat, still as a wrinkle. he just had a stroke. the nearest hospital is 40 miles ahead of you. you don’t pull over. you don’t call out to him. you don’t check to see if your father’s body has breath. you ignore how his skin’s looking like the edges of a bruise. you tell yourself not to think he’s dead because if you think it’s true then it must be. your father’s body will tell you when it ends. you drive past well-worn towns, follow roads less stable than clouds, & still, no matter how far or fast, the road ahead seems endless. this is what forever must mean. sitting with nothing but unknowing, tragedy fills your throat as you realize, no matter the outcome, one day your grief will always have a future. still, you drive on & on. on & on you go. & on & on & on & on & on & on you go.
jj is a las vegas writer. jj has won a few flash contests, has been anthologized, and is published widely. jj is currently attempting to finish their collection.
Image Credit: Flickr Creative Commons/Francesco Pasqualetti
