Last night we went to pick up my mother from the airport, and the whole trip felt like a test of patience and nerves. It started with discovering that only one headlight worked. Add rain and fog on top of that, and visibility quickly became a challenge. I couldn’t figure out how to turn on the defroster, and my father sat beside me, doing slow deep breaths as he tried to guide us down the unlit rural roads which were also winding in all directions. Unlike city streets, these roads offer no extra light, and with oncoming traffic, it often felt like we were driving blind.
At one point, sprinklers had broken somewhere along the roadside, sending water spilling onto the pavement and adding another layer of unpredictability. We even pulled out the car’s registration ahead of time, just in case a police officer decided to stop us over the headlight.
Navigating the airport itself was its own ordeal. My father leaned on me for directions, and I relied on hazy memories from two years ago when we picked up my aunt. Between weaving through unfamiliar lanes, waiting around, and then wrestling our way through baggage claim, it took far longer than expected.
By the time we were on the road home, it was nearly 2 a.m. My mother talked happily in the backseat, recounting her trip, while my father stayed focused, braving the late-night drive with only one working headlight. On the highway, we even witnessed a road rage incident: a truck tailgating a car, then the car switching positions to tail the truck in retaliation. At one point, it looked like someone would get rear-ended. We made sure to keep our distance.
When we finally reached home, both of my parents poured themselves drinks, letting the tension of the night wear off. As for me, I crawled into bed like it was the best place on earth—which, after all that, it truly was.
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