118 Miles Per Hour

The other day I was in  my math class. The professor, a happy and contented man who must be a wizard with the complexity of the equations he computes in his head, had us starting on statistics. For data he asked us "What is the fastest you've driven in a car?"

"90" says the first girl.
"85" says the second.
It is my turn after that.

In a flash I am driving down I-95. It's about 1 am and the roads are clear. It's only the trees bending mournfully over the shoulder of the interstate, and me. It was a dark time in my life, death seemed sweet and I was wistful, longing for its embrace. I didn't want to go home to my piece of crap job, and the husband who ignored me. I didn't want to move toward the future, because however dark my past and present were, my future looked worse.

My foot tensed and I pressed the gas as far as it would go. The trees started blurring together into a wall. I went faster and faster: 85mph, 90mph, 95mph, 100mph. I didn't want to die, really. That's not why I wanted speed. I wanted to move faster than the darkness. I wanted to move past the future and into something better. I was terrified that the darkness was all that was there, and I just wanted proof that there was a reason to keep hoping: 105mph, 110mph. I felt sick. The fire of rage filled my gut, crawled over my shoulders and pushed me back in my seat: 115mph. If I flipped the car. If I ran into the guard rail and it impaled me, leaving me to gurgle my last breaths it would be okay. I at least died trying: 116mph. Mom would cry though, and no one would be there to protect my kid brothers: 117mph. And my cat couldn't take care of himself, I needed to be there to clean and make sure she ate well. My husband wasn't going to do it: 118mph. Responsibility punched me in the face. I took my foot off the gas and coast back to the speed limit ignoring the fact I outran nothing; ignoring the hard coal in my stomach as the fire went out, and ignoring the drops of salt water tickling my chin.

The professor called on me again. "118" I responded.
The girl next to me leaned over, "You aren't lieing are you."

I grin and shake my head. I feel glorious then and there. I feel like I have wings of fire and arms of pure light. I am a badass! It's not because I hit one of the fastest speeds in the class (beat out by a wonderful lady with a big mouth and a Mustang going 120mph). It's because there was happiness in my future after all. I made it through hell with my own strength. My classmates see a number and think "daredevil" I see a dark night on the interstate and think "triumph."