The brittle map, an old one from the 70's, rustled in my hands as I unfolded it just as I have hundreds of times before. A faded yet still detailed image appeared as I opened each flap. With the map outspread in front of me, I began tracing interstates and roads and highways and rivers. Any line of some sort, actually; my finger would trace it from the source till it ran off the map or ended abruptly in the sea.
There is nothing here in this stupid town in Arizona. We're not on any map, even if you look hard.
I want to be somewhere with life, with lots of lights and cars and noise.
I placed the tip of my finger on Interstate 80, and began following the jagged red line down multiple states, through so many cities, past so many homes and lives. I was tracing a road far, far, away from here, somewhere I've never seen. If I concentrated really hard I could see it in my mind.
My finger finally landed on San Francisco. What a wonderful place to be, I thought. That's where I wanted to be: a city with life and color and new experiences. Love, perhaps? I smiled to myself, and I began to fold the map again.
I sat up slowly, my grin growing wider as I rose. It was late out, but that wasn't going to stop me. I flung my closet doors open and I ripped my suitcase from inside. I began piling my clothes and belongings in there. I didn't even care if I brought the ugliest shirt or the fanciest dress. All that I cared about is if I had something to wear on my journey. The luggage bulged with clothing, so I threw myself on it and began to zip it closed. After some struggling, the suitcase zipped shut and before I could say one last goodbye to my bedroom, I was racing down the stairs with the suitcase thunk-thunk-thunking down on each step.
The kitchen was dark, and the only source of light was the blue haze of the stovetop clock. 12:39, it read. My parents were most likely asleep by now. I could grab my car keys off the hook by the door and- "What are you doing?" a groggy voice roused me from my plans. My dad stood at the top of the stairs, looking at down at me half-asleep, half-worried.
"Dad, what are you doing up?" I quickly asked.
"I could say the same for you. I woke up with the racket on the stairs," he rubbed his stubbly chin. "Why do you have a suitcase?"
"I, uh,"
"You're going to see a boy, aren't you?" my dad summed up.
"What? No!"
"Then, what are you doing, honey?"
This was it. I had to leave now or my journey would have to wait. "I'm going to San Francisco," I quickly turned and opened the front door. I raced to my car, unlocked the door, and hopped in with my luggage, hoping my dad wouldn't catch me.
"Come back now!" my dad yelled from the porch. I responded by revving up the car engine and putting the shift into reverse. "Stop now!" my dad screamed as he jogged to my car.
I unrolled the window as I backed out of the driveway and into the empty street. "I'll call you in San Fran," I said with a wink as I rolled up the window again. I drove off, looking back at my father fuming and screaming in the driveway. His anger made me press the accelerator harder.
I was finally going to live my own life, filled with color and excitement. All I had to do now was get to San Francisco.
