Cranking the car rewarded me with dread, but the voice on the other line wouldn’t let me feel otherwise.
Have you left yet?
I pulled the phone away from my ear and mumbled to myself, shouldn’t have told her class was cancelled.
Yeah, I admit it: I’m a shitty girlfriend. I don’t call her. I don’t answer each text, meticulously professing my love to her. Uh-uh. I’m not that kind of girl.
I love from afar. But, as I turned onto the highway, afar grew shorter and shorter.
I just left hon, there’s a bit of traffic but I’ll get there.
I don’t want you to get here and be useless.
I hate that.
I hung up and screamed at the phone. The passing elderly woman stared at me. My windows were down, and everyone could see the crazy lesbian who couldn’t articulate how badly she needed to be at school.
I hadn’t made it out of town yet, but I already missed solitude. As the speed limit jumped to 55, Laina called me again. I sighed, and answered.
Your service sucks!
58. I passed my first mile marker. I had til 137.
So does talking on the phone while driving.
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