But that cliche was not her reality.
She was alone in the car, and had been for hours, with hours still to go. Her eyes were heavy with sleep and her legs were aching from sitting. With a deep breath, she willed herself to get though Chicago rush hour traffic, with the promise that on the other side, eventually, there would be rest.
She looked at her Ipod and noticed a tiny red mark on the battery-She had only moments left before it died. She searched the console for a cd, but nothing she found sounded like something she wanted to hear. The Ipod sputtered through the first half of a song, before the screen went black.
Silence it was.
Well, as silent as a major highway in one of the biggest cities in America during one of the busiest times of day can be.
The hum of thousands of cars lent its self well to daydreaming, which, as had been the case lately, led to more anxiety. More than once she cursed the traffic, not because it kept her from moving forward, but because it prevented her from turning around, abandoning the whole trip.
She was seeking closure, and she knew she must seek it alone. No one could force her to feel it, and she was the only one who knew where to find it. And so, when the traffic started to move, ever so slightly, she kept her hands on the wheel and continued forward, no matter how badly the urge to turn back called her.
This post is in response to a prompt at Write on Edge-we’d like you to take us on an actual journey, specifically a road trip