Gemotions

The weight of the silence after Martha's cheerful retelling of their 'epic' road trip was almost unbearable. They were in the passenger seat, and the scenery whizzed by, but she felt trapped. Martha, behind the wheel, was recalling the fun and laughter, the spontaneous adventures.

Eleanor's fingers tightened around the worn handle of her satchel. She remembered the constant arguments, the relentless criticism of her taste in music, the suffocating control Martha had exerted over every aspect of their journey. She recalled the long stretches of silence punctuated by Martha's lecturing, the feeling of being trapped in a moving prison.

She offered a weak smile. Martha’s narrative airbrushed out the times Eleanor had cried in motel rooms, the frustration, the feeling of being utterly unheard. She wasn't her friend, she was just an accessory to her life.

"Yeah, it was incredible," Eleanor said, her voice thin and brittle, barely audible above the hum of the engine.