Chapter 24 - The Road Again
At twenty two, Noah wanted to drive State Route 315.
I said no.
He asked again months later.
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired of taking three exits around it.”
I had been doing same.
Trauma redesigns maps.
Sarah came.
Three of us in Noah’s car.
Daylight.
Dry road.
No rain.
He drove exactly speed limit.
I laughed.
“What?”
“You drive like eighty.”
“Not here.”
We passed gas station.
Miguel no longer worked there.
Store renovated.
We passed repaired barrier.
No flowers.
No memorial.
Mom’s name not carved into road.
Cars continued.
I felt my body tighten.
Then loosen.
Noah kept both hands on wheel.
Sarah said:
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
For once, true.
We exited two miles later.
Bought lunch.
That was all.
No dramatic breakdown.
No vision of Mom.
No closure thunderbolt.
Sometimes healing is driving past a place and ordering fries afterward.
That summer, Richard became eligible for a structured reentry program near end of sentence.
His parole? Ohio has postrelease control. He served determinate sentence and later supervised release. Fine.
Victim services contacted us about release conditions.
No contact unless requested.
Geographic restrictions near Sarah’s home no longer needed because we lived elsewhere, but Sarah still wanted her address protected.
Granted.
Richard moved into transitional housing.
Worked maintenance.
No access to us.
He complied.
I did not visit again.
Noah never did.
Richard sent one card when we graduated.
Congratulations. I am proud of you. No reply expected.
I kept mine.
Noah threw his away.
Both acceptable.
At Sarah’s wedding to Tom, we walked her down aisle together.
She complained:
“I’m not dead.”
“Tradition.”
“Terrible tradition.”
We did it anyway.
During reception, Tom said:
“Your aunt told me about Maple.”
Noah groaned.
“She told you?”
“Emergency code.”
Sarah pointed:
“Never use it.”
Tom raised hands.
“Understood.”
We laughed.
Then DJ played Mom’s favorite song.
Sarah cried.
I did too.
No shame.
May you like
Grief no longer felt like evidence against me.
That was biggest change.
