HER | ✓

⍣Three⍣

The landscape is blanketed in a thick white sheet giving the illusion there never was green earth beneath it. The sun shining off its surface makes the atmosphere ten times brighter than any summer day. It's the kinda brightness that makes you wonder why sunglasses aren't advertised more for winter than summer.

"Damn the sun," Clayton growled, leaning over for his glovebox. He popped it open, digging blindly for the sunglasses he always left in there. Once he found them he slid them on his face and sighed. Now his eyes could take rest from all the squinting.

Music he hadn't even heard of played quietly through his truck speakers. He tapped the steering wheel to the catchy beat while keeping an eye out for sketchy drivers, road signs and possible exits.

His phone began ringing. To answer the call he pressed a button on his radio. 

"Hello?" A voice filled the cab of his truck.

"Hello ma," he said in greeting.

"Hi Clay, are you on your way?"

"Yes ma."

"When will you be here?" He could see his mom in front of him right now, chewing away at her nails. A nervous habit she developed since he moved away from home.

"Three more hours ma," he told her, hoping to ease her mind.

"Have you packed a bag for your stay?"

"Oh shoot!" He exclaimed.

"What?!" She shrieked.

"I didn't pack it, I forgot I would be staying awhile."

"Oh my gosh Clayton! How careless of you! What are you gonna wear? You can't wear what you have on the whole time. Maybe George wouldn't mind letting you borrow an outfit or two, and I can go get you some clothes. Oh gosh, I need to hurry up and go do that!" Clayton cringed. He wouldn't be caught dead wearing his brothers pin stripe sweaters with embedded collars. Not for as long as he lived.

He grinned as he waited patiently for his ma to stop rambling and thinking aloud. It was one way he knew she was healthy and alright. When his ma wasn't doing well her ramblings and rants were nowhere to be seen or heard.

"Ma, I'm just kidding," he cut in when her ramblings didn't cease. A big rig swooshed by, blaring its horn.

"–I have to get you underwear and– Clayton, what was that?"

"A truck horn," he explained.

"No, no, no, something before the horn."

He grinned wider. She heard it after all. "I said I was kidding ma, I wouldn't forget to pack a bag, I'm not that careless."

"Clayton Bernard Jones! Why you little! If you were here right now I'd smack you for giving me a heart attack!" She threatened.

He laughed, "As always ma."

"That wasn't funny Clayton! I'm going to have your father teach you a lesson when you get here." He rolled his eyes and flicked the turn signal before switching lanes.

"That man don't like me."

"Sure he does! He loves you Clay, he's just a little bit tougher on you," her voice grew quiet.

"Unrightfully too, I'm only making the drive for you ma."

"I know Clay, I know," she responded.

Silence, apart from the small crackling of the speakers, filled the small space of the cab. It was agonizing because Clayton and his mom were always going at it with each other like bests of friends.