The Last Road Trip Tona Ratigan Green

The Last Road Trip

Sitting in my car, driving for prolonged hours; the forest of elders grown to heights only the giants are familiar with. They soar above me, their love shining through the beams of sunlight that lighten the hairs on my arm. The bustle of a city excites me, like a cave of wild bats, all flying around, flooding the pavement with the scrapes of their heels.

This trip was about me. This trip was about us: my sister, my mother, and I. A watery film over my eyes. Their oceans sharing the joy my brain emulates.

The last road trip: the last commemoration of the childhood I was fostered in.

Tiny toes feel the wet dew of malleable grass. She spends her summers dancing in the woods, the trees nurturing her bare feet, protecting them from the nettles just waiting to embrace themselves in her soft flesh. Lying in the rivers with the water right over her nose, so she could see the sunlight as it pressed its way into the droplets, making a moving mosaic above her eyelids, she sees the world from the mountains, watching the earth from a god’s perspective, looking out for what to play with next.

She is embraced by the warmth of Mother Nature’s bosom. Her arms slip around her golden locks; her feet leading me down all of her luscious paths.

I stand here, tiptoeing away from the idea of this ending.

My feet becoming numb from the light, inches away; I stand on the line: blurry darkness holding its presence behind me, the light shining its sweet glow in front of me. The sooner the scar is cut,

the sooner the pink blood with cease from running out of my swollen vein.

I try to escape it all. I beg to go home. Tik tok tik tok I calculate days: numbers, hours. Tik tok tik tok Each minute stretched until it bursts: a pop of colorless molecules floats between the air. Tik tok tik tok Seconds longer than the next. Tik tok tik tok

I make excuses. I convince myself of my reasons. My childhood home: a doll house waiting to be played with, or gathering dust between the days.

The last time, the last minutes, the last road trip with my mother and sister:

I spent it wanting to leave.

Tona Ratigan Green, Grade 12 South Senior High School, Minneapolis Teaching Artist: SEE MORE PERSPECTIVE