I’m driving.I’m driving and I notice that the nails on my left hand are longer than those on my right,But they don’t look bad.I have adjusted the seat at least five times by now, but I do it once more.I notice I’ve slowed down. The car, I mean.Me too, but now the car.I think about my options. Do I have to go straight? I can go left. Left is south and south goes for miles without end. I could keep going. I could keep going and stop it all.I hadn’t the nerve to bring the things, so it wouldn’t be as I wanted.Not that I should want that anyways.But I do.Maybe I should call, I begin to think.Just to be safe and secure and not alone.NoNo I won’tCalling is selfish I won’t I can’t it’s unfair I shouldn’tI check my phone for the red light that flickers like the lighthouse in a storm.No messages, no missed calls.  I’ve slowed down,But now it’s because the woman in front of me is driving twenty miles per hour.She keeps trying to keep me off her tail, but it’s hard when I just want to punch the gas and drive infinitely into the already set sun.But I refuse to pass her.Eventually, she gets into the lane left of me to turn at a stoplight.I look at her.She flips me off, and the only word I am able to read on her lips is “bitch.”I stare at her.  There before me is a woman, seemingly blunt and angry in nature,Curly and unruly blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail.I realize that I don’t know this woman, and I never will.I will never know what drives her, what has shaped her to be the person that I see before me in this moment.The only time that our paths will cross was that moment and that word,“Bitch.”  And I wonder about the girl sitting next to her.Long, dark hair, like how mine used to be,No anger in her eyes as she peers over at me.She seems tired. I wonder what right the woman has to yell at me when the only person that will hear is her daughter.I presume she is her daughter.  But it doesn’t matter that I wonder,Because now they are both gone.The light has turned green and I stare as they leave,Our paths crossing only once,Our boats grazing by each other in a vast and often lonely bay.  I watched them go left.I can go left.But I don’t.  Because then my phone does light up,The little red beacon finally responding to the distress signal I never sent.I read, "Are you home yet, my love?"And I sigh into the steering wheel, not yet pulling from the light,No one is waiting behind me,Only ahead.  So that is how I will move,Ahead,Because she needs to know that I got home safelyThat tonight will end like last night,I got home safely and I called her and I was okay.  That,Or rather, she,Is why I keep moving.  And so I'm driving.