Early Saturday, driving up I-5 on a misty cool Pacific Northwest Morning singing at the top of my lungs to Peter Gabriel, thinking about apartheid, I glanced down at my gas gauge and saw that I had almost a full tank, almost a full tank in a Prius. I was struck with a strong impulse to just keep driving.  I tried to push the thought out of my head and kept singing, thinking of Steve Biko, his tragic death at age 31, a promising life cut short because of hate. I wondered if he knew he would die so young if he would have made different choices, gone on more adventures, had more or less lovers, chosen a different path. With tears streaming down my face, I cried for Stephen, I cried for my birth mother, recently deceased at age 60, another life ending far too early.  I needed something to cry about, a way to release the storm in my heart. I pulled over at a rest stop to walk it off; searching my purse to find that my passport was still in there, I took mental inventory of the clothes I had in my overnight bag, a dress, 2 pair of underwear, and a hiking outfit,  and allowed myself to fantasize about my great escape. I could drive up through Canada and into Alaska. I could just leave it all behind. I could find a job waiting tables or tending bar in a small Alaskan town. I’m good with people, sometimes too good, but that is another story. I could go by a different version of my name. I could make new friends, being careful to just listen to their problems and share none of my own. I could spend my days off hiking and exploring the wild, answering to no one but me. When I grew tired of one place, I could move on to another town, another bar, another version of my name, a new set of acquaintances. I let myself run wild with this in my head for a good ten minutes, then got back into my car, plugged in the directions for my friend’s house in Lacey and put the car in drive. 


  1. I'm glad you're still here, though. I would miss you.

    1. I would miss you too. I think we all have fantasies like this from time to time. I'm far too responsible and have too many people I love to do something like this. XOXO


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