Ghosts You Leave Behind (One-shot)

A Break From Everything

Mary May Gibson gets a break.

Finally, she thinks to herself. She sighs a long, heavy sigh. If a person had been in the car with her at that moment, they would've seen a short young woman, probably in her twenties, but in reality— not much past her eighteenth birthday. They would've seen her rest her arms on the steering wheel and sigh yet again, this time resting her head between her arms. She feels the mucky snow on her boots begin to melt into her car's carpet lining, the harsh strap of her leather purse digging into her shoulder, the slight warmth her seat gives her in contrast with the moist coldness of her car window- and her eyes, streaming with hot tears that fell sometimes on her lap but slightly more on the plastic steering wheel of her car.

She gave a bleary eyed look beyond her windshield and saw the back of a multi-storey warehouse. Its gray stone wall, vast and cold, three inches thick, would've done nothing to ease Mary's sorry state, in fact: it did quite the opposite, as it had caused new tears to well up from her already wet eyes. She thought that she would dry up if she cried anymore than she already has, a fleeting thought but one that would hold much truth for only a few minutes later, her steady stream of salty tears had by this time slowed to only three drops or so. She had cried since she left the apartment building of her friends. She felt herself ragged, tired, sore, and used up, but somehow... free.

She felt like she could breath again.

She did indeed take a few calming breaths as she arranged her hair, which was frayed in various places atop her head. Her purse, she threw onto the empty passenger seat, but barring that, she was very careful —especially since the car was relatively new, as far as used cars go. The deal had gone happily for the sleazy dealer, offering her what he said was a very reasonable discount, fifteen percent off. Mary May Gibson had not found the deal 'reasonable' however much she was swindled, but she had no other choice —well, no other cheap choice. What was left of her money was stuffed depressingly in her rather large purse, an almost ironic contrast she thought.

She began to tidy up her clothes starting with taking off her designer jacket, folding it neatly, and putting it on the passenger seat under her purse. Her black blouse was wet with sweat and had a noticeable tear on the left sleeve. Her skin was scarred in that area, a subdued red which still hurt when it was touched. Mary Gibson paid it no heed as she drained her plastic water bottle of its contents and started to get some clean tissues to wipe her still wet cheeks, drying off uncomfortably. There was not a lot of space in the little Honda.
With a last look at the cold gray wall, tissues laying careless about the car, Mary shifted gears and started to drive.

Off from the snow filled parking lot, the car heaved slowly away, meter by meter onto the adjoining street and waited, rumbling away at a stop light. Its many kin kept company on the cold road, waiting patiently for the stop light to turn green. A red car drove away from the Honda up to an intersection where it was once again joined by a throng of waiting vehicles. A truck carrying loads, honked angrily at a black sedan, as it was slow to process that the lights had already turned green. The general commotion of late winter streets. Ever so slowly, her little car ate up the miles, and passed the streets heading to the city limits and onto the highway, passing many shops and stores in the market section. The many strangers, blurred and unconcerned, went about their business in a dull humm -ineligible- mixed with the backdrop of city noises and distant music, muffled by the thick plastic casing of the car.

Mary drove silently through streets and avenues, occasionally consulting the built-in GPS whenever she turned an unfamiliar exit or a befuddling roundabout. Then, for what seemed like no time at all, she was on the highway.
The sun had set in a lazy purple haze behind a cottony curtain of dark-gray clouds. The stars poked holes in the sky, tiny punctures in the vastness, faintly blinking and teasing at a wondrous sight. Miles away from the old open parking lot, running windward, was Mary Gibson in her tiny car, seemingly relieved- even glad. She was glad for mainly three reasons: one, it was now comfortably warm inside the car; two, the highway felt immensely expansive as there were only a few cars driving with her— their bright red taillights seemed a comfort to Mary as she felt that she was not alone in this desolate, cold winter road— and thirdly, she was away, and that's all that mattered. Away and about. Just a little more away, and she could be anyone other than Mary May Gibson, anything she wanted.