island time

     There was a small mustard-colored stain on her favorite white t-shirt, but she went back in time to a family road trip when she wore it. They had stopped on the side of the road, and her father bought Georgia peaches from a small wooden stand. A few other cars had pulled over with people that wanted peaches. Some carried whole families like theirs, others were just one or two passengers, but not one other truck held a used refrigerator in the back. Other families bought souvenirs from trips; hers brought their grandparents’ old fridge home. There was a ratty yellow striped tarp over the stand, and she kept fixating on the piece that was lopsided over the edge. They hadn’t eaten in a while, and the peaches were as delicious as they had heard. The juice dribbled down her chin and onto her shirt, and she felt just peachy: warm and fuzzy. The glow of the setting sun cast a golden hue inside the truck. The sky was honey and fire; it faded away like melting butter. Her dad...

               She picked at the skin around her fingernails as she stared out the window. She didn’t realize how long she had been doing this until she noticed the crimson bloodstains around her left thumb. The slight iron smell invaded her senses, and she stopped. The endless grassy fields merged into each other, and then they were peppered with soft yellow flowers until even those morphed into a carpet of sand that drifted into the glittering ocean. She slipped her hands in her pockets and closed her eyes. Staring out the window did little to calm her anxiety. She focused on her breathing. She thought that life was passing her by as quick as the scenery changed outside her window. As these thoughts sped through her mind, the rhythm of the train’s slow chugging lulled her to sleep. Unwanted suggestions of running away from her problems invaded her dreams. The long forlorn whistle of the train woke her from her fitful sleep in the middle of ...