Her problems faded out of sight in the rear-view mirror and she relished the roar of the highway wind. In a few minutes, maybe, she would turn on the radio, twist the volume up until it rumbled in her floorboards, her seat, her lungs. Until it filled the car and pushed the horizon farther away. She usually did, just as part of ignition, listening to the engine turn over once before she drowned it out with drums and guitar.
A friend had told her once that there was a science to why music sounded better when it was cranked up loud. She didn’t need the excuse, but she used it just the same, turning the dial higher. Turning decent songs good, and good songs great. Forcing everything back.
But not now.
The engine grumbled, low and steady in a hollow frame. The tires struck pavement, and echoed strange little songs. The wind pulled heavily against her car, all coke bottle hum. She smiled and loved every moment’s reminder that there was nothing in this car but her.
She had left it all behind.
Shifting her hand on the wheel, she settled back, warm and happy in the sunlight tumbling in through the window. Propping her elbow on the sill, she leaned her head lightly on her fingers. The edge of the world was a little nearer, she thought, an uneven line between what definitely was, and what might maybe be. Wide and hazy, the road rolled on in front of her.
When it got dark, perhaps, she would stop. She usually did.
But not now.