Your mother meant it, she really meant it, when she told you to stop whining.
She pulled over at a rest stop on the highway and told you to get out of the car.
Ever obedient, you slid off the seat, your bare thighs squelching on the sweaty leather. You remember the door burning the tips of your fingers when you pushed it closed.
You wanted your mom’s best friend Connie to roll the passenger side window down and invite you back inside. Instead, your mother drove away with Connie and Connie’s daughter, who taped the sides of her board games instead of leaving them broken like you did.
The highway went in one direction. So that was it. The end.
Your mother couldn’t turn around and get you, even if she changed her mind.
Now you would live in the woods on the side of the road, dine on bark.
Image Credit: Flickr Creative Commons/formulanone