West 3

I wasn't scared of doing this, whatever this was, and I wasn't intimidated by any of the consequences, and that felt like true freedom to me. My liberation didn't come from my pains and fears rattling in the ignition, nor did it come from the dull golden asphalt rushing to meet me; my liberation came from my decision to be liberated. Now I was speeding away from a house that wasn't a home toward a horizon that I knew would be ecstatic to see me.
I had no idea where I was going, but I knew what I was doing. I wanted to see him. I hadn't been aware of my desire to, but behind the wheel of my new life I knew that my son was supposed to be with me. But where was he? I had just as much of an idea of where he was now than I did of where I would be in 12 hours. I started critically thinking for the first time since I left the house. The last time I saw him was at the adoption center that we left him at, so I decided that was my first place to go. I leaned back, relieved and anxious at the same time; relieved to have a clue of what to do, anxious to meet my son after 13 years. I could feel a thin layer of sweat against my pajama top when I touched the seat. I reached for the air conditioner, paused, then rolled down the windows instead.
The air was so loud, so ferocious at first, but by degrees it calmed down, or at least I got used to its abrasiveness. Its wild fingers didn't hurt in my sleep-knotted hair; the brunt force of its fist began to brush my cheek instead of bash against it; the air around me became less unbearable to hear and more soothing to listen to, and it sang songs I hadn't heard before, songs bursting with valor and pride. I was surrounded by and wrapped inside of the freedom that I felt in my heart. It didn't fuel an intense combustion in my engine; however, it soared sky high, rushing away from the ash and embers and charcoal inside me, rushing to meet the stars.
The first signs of the city appeared in front of me, and the first signs of a long-lost smile formed around my eyes.