I looked at her in ways unknown to myself. With one hand on the wheel, she attempted to satisfy her internal craving- indescribable to a child so young as myself. All she knew is I was her daughter, she was my mother, and there was no other option but safety. Despite one hand on the wheel, sprouting tears on the interior, and circular thoughts, there was no option but safety because I was in the passenger seat. “Mom, are you not scared to drive with one hand? How do you do that?” “You get used to it, Preet. I like to drive, I enjoy being on the road”.
Fuel expenditure unnoticed, my favorite ride is in the driver’s seat of all cars. The road always leads to new discovery, some places lit and others pitch black. Music synchronized with my accelerating pace, alone or with you, cruising : escaping.
“Don’t you have shit to do today? I know you do, you always have shit to do. Can’t you put away your feelings for a bit, and do your shit?” Every morning, I wake to the disturbance in his voice, ringing in my ears- “Just leave me alone, Preet”. So, I left him alone. So, I left every single person alone. After all, who was I to stay and claim my space? Who was I to cling, who was I to capture, who was I to be here? Today, I always ensure I have shit to do, because I must always have shit to do. Every passing moment, I cling to substance to maintain my definition, or his definition. Always have shit to do, Preet.
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