"may be the last time, I don't know, don't know"
The words wafted through the warm heavy breeze. Heavy enough to hold those words as you drove out to Ft. Stockton. Sky and road scorched white - scentless air washed in the open windows. The metal lining the car door not too hot to rest your arm. No thoughts flooded your mind. As open and empty as the landscape. Just time to get away before the clutter came crashing in and pinned you to a house filled with your things and Jane's. An excuse to check in on Mom, decorated as goodwill. She'd be surprised when you showed up with no evidence of plans. Excitement followed by questions. There'd be a few days before responsibility and guilt set you off again. Not going anywhere.
Why are you the one who's never going after anything and you're just fine with that. Why do people have to go after things? Why can't they just be somewhere? But aren't you the one who's pushing away or is it just out? Destinationless. These thoughts began to crowd your head as you pulled up to the familiar yellow house not much wider than a station wagon. The concrete walkway, a straight line from the street to the door. Up the steps the screen door hung closed. Quiet heard from within. "Mom, are you there?"
"Jesse, what are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you."
"Oh, I just thought I'd drive out to see you," you answered as your hand reached the door. Your mother's grey figure moved toward the opening door's light.
