A Drive to Nana's

With one final sigh, the sun sank below the horizon. It's colors of orchard yellow, peach, and mauve trailing after it and fading into the quite stillness of night. Peter flicked on the headlights of his beat up Honda Civic, and continued speeding down the straight stretch of highway, anxious to be at his destination. Pinpricks of stars began to appear in the dark night sky, and the moon began to poke it's head above the tree tops.

Peter hated driving at night. He could not confirm it but he was almost certain that he had some form of night blindness or light sensitivity. The headlights now a days were almost blinding. He especially hated those ones that were so blindingly bright that they almost changed colors when you look at them. They messed with his head.

Jesus, he thought, I sound like I'm old.

His eyes flickered to the dashboard, 8:15 p.m., it glowed back. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Timing was important. He knew she wasn't about to leave this very second, but it felt almost urgent that he get to her house right away.

Without the conscious thought of the action, Peter accelerated and his eyes scanned for the next exit. His had to be coming up soon. He had typically only experienced this drive in his childhood when he was a passenger. It felt longer driving it himself as an adult.

Ah-Ha! He thought as the reflective green road sign came into view.

Exit 61, it read.

Alright, only two more to go, he thought with satisfaction.

It wasn't just the two more exits though. He still had to get off the highway, navigate route 3 to Piston Street or something like that, maybe Prestin Street? He never could remember... but the point was he still had twenty-ish more minutes of driving and he wasn't sure his nerves could handle it.

He had the curious sensation of dying to be at his destination and dreading when he actually got there. He found that his nerves did best if he tried not to think too hard about his it, merely focusing on the logistics of getting there, the journey and all that.

He called it micromanaging his thoughts, and he really only had to employ it in these drastic situations.

This, unfortunately, qualified.

He passed Exit 62 and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

One more to go, he thought somberly.

He'd already been driving for three hours. His bladder was full but he refused to pull over. He was hungry and thirsty but his water and snacks lay untouched. His thoughts were consumed with trying not to think too much, ironically enough. Try as he might, that was one hard task to do, especially when he was anxious.

Without meaning to, the memory of the phone call with his Dad surfaced from his subconscious.

"Hello?" Peter said as he answered his phone.

"Peter?" Dad asked.

"Yeah Dad, it's me."

Peter was always annoyed when his Dad would call him and still feel the need to check that it was him. He knew it was just the difference in generations and technology and all that. He tried to be patient but it always slipped when he had to explain, once again, to his Dad these things like how he didn't have to address text messages as if they were emails or letters, or the general workings of his phone. He always felt guilty about this, but he couldn't help being a little annoyed. He showed him so many times how to work the stupid thing.

Exit 63! Peter took his exit and managed to merge onto Route 3 without hassle which was a small miracle.

"Oh, hi son," Dad said. "How is everything treating you?"

"It's good, Dad. School's been good. Almost done with this semester," Peter had said a little more shortly than he normally would, it was late after all and he was suppose to be going to his friend Dino's party.

"That's great Pete." He had said, sounding a little distracted. Peter wasn't even sure if he had actually heard him. The words finally came out in a rush. "So, I'm sorry to do this over the phone, but Nana's not doing too good. You know how she has that tumor on her throat, the doctors got back to her and it's not safe to operate on anymore..."

Peter felt his stomach sink. He waited for Dad to collect himself once again. His voice had sounded strained and Peter knew he was trying not to cry. The knowledge that his father was trying not to cry scared Peter. Parents weren't suppose to cry in front of their children. It made Peter feel extremely vulnerable and completely helpless.

"Peter, I think you should go say goodbye," His Dad had finally choked out.

And so here he was, rushing to his destination and fearing it all the same. He didn't know what to expect when he got there. He was afraid of how she would look, would she act like a zombie? What would she say to him? Would she start crying? What if she didn't cry? The list went on and on and on and it drove him crazy.

He took his turn onto Prescott Street, he was wrong on both those guesses but he knew he'd forget the name as soon as he left, and began checking the house numbers. He felt there was no real need to though cause he always knew his Nana's house when he saw it.

He stopped at a four way intersection. He didn't remember this at all. He peered up at the street sign. Mayfield Road? No, he was pretty sure that she was on Prescott Street. He continued forward, wondering if he should call his Dad to make certain.

Before he could reach for his phone, he saw it. There, along the curve of the road, was the small blue cape house with yellow shutters that was his Nana's house. It looked smaller than he remembered.

It felt like his heart was in his throat. His stomach felt like it had shriveled up completely. He felt the itch to turn around and run for it (or speed more accurately), yet he continued until he was pulling up into the crowded driveway and shutting off his car. He recognized his Dad and Aunt's car. He wondered who else was there.

His heart was beating so fast he wondered if he was having a heart attack. He tried a few steadying breaths and when that failed he jumped out of the car and pace the length of his car. His hands were shaking. Now that the journey was over, the part he had been trying so hard not to think about had arrived.

He had no idea what he would say to her. He had no idea what she would say to him. He was afraid he'd start just bailing in front of him.

He forced himself to take a slow steady breath in.

Better. The night air helped. It was cool with a little humidity but it wasn't unpleasant. He could smell the rose bush Nana had by the front door and the earthy musk of the mulch and gardening soil. The grass had been cut not long ago, Peter guessed early that morning based on the clippings left behind and its slightly sweet aroma it left in the air.

He took a few more steady breaths, his heart finally returning to a normal pace.

You're going to be okay, he told himself firmly.

He nodded to himself and took in one big final breath, holding it slightly, and on his exhale he balled his hands into fists and made himself walk up the driveway to steps that lead to the side entrance. The curtains blocked the windows on the outside but he could hear voices inside.

He started knocking but thought better of it and just opened the door and went inside.

His Dad and Aunt were talking in the kitchen. Both had a glass of red wine and both had strained expressions. They turned at the sound of Peter's entrance and both broke away to give him a hug.

"Thank you for making it," his Dad whispered in his ear.

"So good to see you Dear," his Aunt had said.

His mom materialized out of nowhere and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"How was your drive?" She asked.

"It was good," Peter said in a small voice. He felt so small, like he was a child again.

He was grateful to have his family there. He was even more grateful when Mom took him by the hand and calmly lead him in the living room. His nerves began to jumpstart again, but they were diminished, not the monster they were before. The company of his family helped keep the hysteria at bay, and he could not think how this would have gone had them not have been there.

The living room had the same gray carpet that it always had. A flowery thick rug only old ladies would have loved lay on top of it. The wallpaper on the walls were stained yellow from the cigarette smoke despite Nana having quit that "nasty business" (as she referred to it) thirty years ago. A big couch sat against the wall, and adjacent to this was Nana's puffy arm chair (it was actually Papa's but after he passed Nana spent every night in it). It faced the TV, which played Wheel of Fortune. An oxygen tank hissed and pumped next to the chair, and strapped to the oxygen tank was his Nana.

She was skinnier than he ever remembered seeing her. Though he had seen her three months ago for Easter, she seemed to have lost a significant amount of weight in that time. She had a crochet blanket draped across her legs and fuzzy slippers poked out from the bottom of it. Her calico cat Pepper, was on her lap and she purred away happily as Nana absent mindedly pet her.

She didn't realize at first when Peter arrived, her hearing was not what it use to be. Mom steered Peter in front of her and when her eyes rested on his, they were full of satisfaction and love.

"Oh, Petey my love!" She exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face.

Peter smiled and felt his anxiety vanish. Looking into his Nana's eyes, he only felt love and concern, a little sadness too, but no fear. This was his Nana, and he loved her with all his heart.

"Hi Nana," he said as he bent down to give her a kiss.

She took one of his big, sweaty hands in both of her frail hands. They looked a little skeletal, but Peter focused on her eyes. Nana was still there in her eyes, and he felt relieved he could have this last moment with her.

Mom kissed the top of his head and went back into the kitchen.

Peter ended up staying the night.