The Mini Vacation

Katie packed a quick tote and threw it in the back seat of her car, mumbling to herself the whole time. 

“Shit day at work, shit day at home. Bullshit left and right. So sick of you, so sick of you, so sick of you. I’ve got to get out of here.”

She slammed her car door to go back inside the house for one final check for any obviously-needed items. She found none. 

Katie picked up her sunglasses from the table beside the front door and put them on her face, snagging her ear in the process and letting a small cry of pain escape her lips. She grimaced and set her face into a sour don’t talk to me mask and slammed the door behind her. 

The next door neighbor looked up at the ruckus, but hurriedly looked back down at his weeding after a glimpse at Katie’s face. If she’d noticed, she might have snickered at how well her mask worked. 

But she didn’t notice. 

She started her car and sat a moment, squeezing the steering wheel. “Shit day,” she muttered, one last time, as she out the car in gear and left the driveway. 

A few deep breaths later, she reached out and flipped the radio on. 

A few slightly off key songs later, she began to lose the tension in her shoulders. 

And by the time she was out of town and driving through the dancing shafts of sunlight cutting between the trees growing to her right, she was smiling. 

The mountains were calling.