A Speed Run South
Short Story in Prose
Four feet of snow delayed our departure. A driveway, eight roofs, and a parking lot full of snow. Cars abandoned on the highway. It was clear: we would not make it as far South as we wanted. But, but — if we could just get somewhere slightly warmer, somewhere without snow. Drive for the sake of driving. A speed run.
Packed up the Sprinter — her maiden voyage. There’s still red tape holding insulation on the walls and no cupboard faces. We looked like — let your imagination run wild — I hope they don't tear the van apart. I hope the terrier helps with her pathetic, garbled howl — her best Frenchie imitation. Detroit never ceases to amaze me — six hours and the US is just barely in sight.
Michigan and Ohio were lost in a blink of an eye. Unexpectantly, half the clocks on board changed their minds in Bowling Green. Cincinnati’s architecture left me wanting and was gone before I even had a good taste. Then late, somewhere on I75 —we could feel the pressure in our ears build as we climbed what we assumed was a mountain. Shotty service put us somewhere in Kentucky, possibly near or in the Appalachians.
Knoxville still had snow but promised t-shirt weather, and it was the point at which we turned tail — Nashville was loud, wonderful, and crazy all at once. Louisville was quaint and I would have loved to see…
