Carolina

The cab sits idling at the end of your street. I know you're not home. The car is missing from the driveway. It's a Saturday night and your windows are dark. The house still remains exactly the same as it has been over the past years, but I don't understand how it can now. I expect to see something different. Anything to show that things have changed; For the first time things have change.

I glance at my cellphone, hoping it will ring.

"The snow's too deep. I'll have to let you out here," the driver tells me, just about to press stop on the meter. I reach out and touch his shoulder. I can't say anything in fear my facade will break. I wonder if he can tell. His hand falls and his eyes avoid the rearview mirror.

I dial your number. It goes straight to your voice mail.

"I'm busy right now. Leave a message. I'll get back to you."

I hang up and wait for another minute. I know where to find you. I know exactly where you'd be. But the streets are filled with snow and something in the air here still keeps me away. I swallow the lump in my throat away and tuck my phone into my coat pocket.

"To the airport," I tell the driver in a whisper.

The cab pulls away at a dangerously slow pace. The tires spin on the snow, but we make it out of view of your house.

"You going on vacation?" He asks.

"Not exactly," I tell him. My short answer is enough for silence to fall between us and its awkward. There's a country song playing on the radio. Something soft and sad.

You told me to do it. To go. You told me to "stick to my guns". You told me to do this for me. But as we merge onto the highway I cannot see the next turn off, no way to turn around and my heart is beating in my throat.

I look at my phone one more time.

"You expecting a call?" He asks, turning the country song down.

"Well, I'm waiting for a sign."

The driver clicks his tongue against his teeth and shakes his head. His eyes glance back at me. I can feel them even though I can't look up from my hands.

We pull into the terminal four hours earlier than I had hoped for. The driver takes my bags from the trunk and walks with them through the sliding doors. I keep up with his strides while taking the twenties from my pocket. He takes them with reluctance and said, "You're allowed to feel torn about leaving."

"Thanks for the ride." I lift my bags from the ground and begin to walk away.

"My name's Alan. If you come back to town I'll take you where you've gotta go." He holds out his card between two fingers. His eyes stare straight into mine. I feel embarrassed, but set down one of my suitcases to take the card.

"What's your name?" Alan asks.

"Carolina."

He nods and tips the brim of his baseball cap. I shake my head and place the card in my coat pocket. As he turns away I take out my cellphone one last time, just to see if you called. No messages. No missed calls. I hold the power button until it turns off and head toward the check-in desk.

Now I feel like Carolina. I split myself in two.




Bold font are lyrics from both Avenues by Whiskeytown and Carolina by M. Ward.