Green Blurs

Trees flew past in green blurs as the Greyhound bus held up interstate traffic. Not the most efficient means of transportation, but that’s what you took when you were running away right, bus?

I pulled my baseball cap low over my eyes and slouched down, earbuds blaring tunes from my ipod. Kids who traveled had ipods, right? I hoped it didn’t make me stand out. I needed to keep a low profile; no using credit cards, cell phones, or internet to contact anyone who might have any connection to back home.

They probably weren’t even worried yet.

I’d left the hospital when the doctor came out with that look on his face. It was the sad look of the person who’d picked the short straw and had to tell the family. I was 12 steps from the door when I heard the sob echo through the lobby, the sob of a mother who’d lost her daughter.

I didn’t want to face the repercussions.

It was my car.

I had a long ride to think about the what if’s, but I refused to focus on the past. I let the music fill me and watched the trees.

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