Driving. With one hand on the wheel, the other gripping my stomach, a stomach that has digested more than its share of giving all that I've had and gotten nothing in return.

Driving. With one hand on the wheel, the other clutching my leg, which now quivers as I grow closer, quivers with anticipation, presses harder on the accelerator as my ride grows ever closer to my destination. In the distance, just minutes away down the highway, is a bitterness that beckons me, that has dwelled inside me since the moment my cells first divided, that has ringed in my ears, like a bell, for many miles, thousands and thousands of miles. A lifetime of miles.

Driving. And the minutes pass by like years. Just as long and just as meaningless. Years worth of long, drawn-out, excruciating minutes. Many worthless years, clutching the same wheel with the same hand, speeding toward the same far off feeling'� bitterness. As fear rides beside me in silence. Not wearing his seat belt. And loneliness in the back. Constantly looking over my shoulder. Telling me 'Turn this way and that way'� ' fucking back seat drivers!

And I finally fasten my own seat belt. A feeble attempt at reassuring myself that I mean something to somebody. That I'm more than just a dollar sign, or a free drink, or a good laugh. And still fear just sits there saying nothing. Only smiling at me from the passenger seat. Because he knows what I know'� that we're closer now than ever to that beckoning feeling. That bell. That first divided cell within the womb. Bitterness.

Driving. With one hand on the wheel, the other gripping my stomach again ' putting pressure on the wound ' the pain almost too much to bear. But it won't be long now. Just a few more miles till we've reach our destination. And when we've arrived? Well'� I guess that will be the end of that.


GSH

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