To Say Good Bye

She doesn't say good bye. She doesn't have the strength.

All of her energy is going into her departure. She packs her suitcase and loads the car quietly and efficiently, ignoring the ache that snakes it's fingers around her heart and squeezes so tightly. It will do no good to break down now. she has to be strong. she has to hold it together. at least until she's on the road and far away from the source of her pain.

She never expected to be in this position. not this time. She had allowed herself to believe that this was true love. Everlasting love. The kind of love that would sustain her through even the darkest days.

Yet, here she was, fitting the last few years of her life into the backseat of her Ford Tempo. Piled on the front seat is a collection of Cd's, a compilation of hard rock and blues that will go well with the pedal to the metal attitude she intends to exhibit when she leaves. Never mind any Thelma and Louise. She can pull this exodus off all by herself.

She checks her purse one last time. Drivers license, passport, the savings withdrawal and tucked deep in the side pocket, in a wrinkled envelope, circled by a rubber band, the brand new, never used Visa card, secreted away all these weeks, in case this day came.

The lump rises bitterly in her throat as she stares at the house, the empty promises, the shattered dreams, the brokenness. She refuses to cry. REFUSES. The sooner she gets down the road the better. Best case scenario is to put miles between herself and the source of the pain.

3 days and 1383 miles later, after naps in the car and sustained by bad coffee and cheap burgers, she checks into in a musty motel with a mattress reminiscent of oatmeal, a broken thermostat and thin walls. Exhausted and afraid, she sleeps on top of the blankets, her thick winter coat tucked around her. In the morning she stares at the reflection in the mirror.

And is astounded at what she finally sees. The truth.

At long last she is forced to acknowledge the source of her pain. It wasn't him, had never been him. It is her. Her own bottomless well of unresolved issues, hurts, baggage. No matter how many suitcases she packs or miles she drives, this is the reality. A truth she cannot outrun.

It hits her in waves. A gasp, like a punch to her gut, she bends under the weight of it. She sinks to the floor as sobs escape.

Perhaps she will find the strength after all, to say goodbye.