As humans, the heaviest things we carry aren’t what we hold with our hands. It’s what we hold in our hearts. Our pride, our shame, our hopes, our fears, and our lives, all weighing us down from the inside. Eventually, it gets so heavy that we stop moving, because we fail to realize we can put it down. All it requires is a choice.

The Watson men hit the road at first light, now less than 500 miles from Los Angeles. Omar feels a smile stretch across his face as he hears the lights of Hollywood starting to call his name. His fresh start was finally becoming a reality, one mile at a time.

The night seems to restore Jasper, if only temporarily. He is now sitting in the passenger seat, clutching a roadside brochure, staring holes right through it as if he were under a spell. But behind his blue eyes, they glow more from sadness than intrigue. Because sadness is intriguing, and he’s lost in the depths. Omar notices Jasper’s hand trembling slightly as he holds the brochure—just a flutter, there and gone. But when it happens, Jasper tries to hide it and conceals himself opening and closing his hand as if to stretch it out. Omar says nothing; he just pretends to watch the road. After a beat, Omar speaks.

“Whatcha got there, Dad?”  says Omar as he reaches out towards the brochure, daring the car to drive itself.

“Our final stop.” Jasper nods absently, still poring over his pamphlet.

Omar’s eyes cut to Jasper. He didn’t like the word “final.” It was, in fact, too final. He feels a bit of uneasiness grow in the car and rolls down the window, daring the warm breeze to lighten the mood.

“Stop? You mean like pit stop? Because, with, you know, being wanted and all.”

Jasper shakes his head, still consumed with the brochure. He moves slowly, the way people move when their body betrays them.

“We stopped last night and didn’t have any trouble didn’t we?”

Omar sighs.

“Yeah… but that doesn’t exactly make you free, you know.”

Jasper puts the brochure down and turns to Omar.

“But this place will.” He says it so earnestly that Omar can’t keep his mind from wondering what the hell he means.

Omar steals another glance at the brochure. He can only make out a white building. “What are you talking about? The only place that’s gonna make you free is talking to a lawyer… and maybe using a bathroom.”

Jasper grunts and a cough follows—short, and dry, that he tries to bury. He glances at his suitcase, clears his throat and waves the comment away like it were a fly.

“I ain’t talking about that kind of free. I’m talking about the other kind of free. The kind of freedom you have when put all your shit behind you.”

Omar furrows his brow.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jasper slams his brochure down and turns to Omar.

“You know all that baggage you carry?”

Omar’s eyes cut to the rearview mirror, focusing on Jasper’s junk in the backseat.

“Yeah?”

Jasper slaps Omar on the shoulder.

“No, yah dummy, all that shit you carry. Monica, your past… that baggage. The emotional kind.”

Omar frowns and turns his head quizzically. It was far too early for this philosophical shit.

“All that stuff is behind me, back in Ohio. That’s why I… we… left,” says Omar rather mutely.

Jasper scratches his chin.

“Is it?”

Omar taps his fingers impatiently on the wheel.

“…Yeah.”

Jasper smiles to himself and shakes his head.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

Omar exhales. “Look—I’m over it… trust me.”

Jasper chuckles to himself.

“It’s okay if you’re not… that shit has to feel heavy… I know it would for me,” he chides. “Hell, it made you drive across the damn country.”

Omar rubs the back of his neck, hoping it will smooth out his annoyance. Jasper looks over and tilts his head, his mouth open like he’s expecting Omar to respond. But Omar turns his chin away, intentionally blocking him out. Jasper shifts in his seat. His hand moves to his chest for just a moment—a small, private press—before falling back to his lap. After a beat, Jasper sighs and plops his hands on his thighs.

“Trust me, those things we all run from. Our failures, our disappointments—those things are all baggage. We got to stop carrying that shit.” He says rather indigently.

Omar raises an eyebrow and grits his teeth.

“Time heals all wounds,” Omar mutters, his voice rising. “I just need time… and distance,” before trailing off.

Jasper shakes his head.

“Take it from me—time doesn’t heal; it numbs. Acceptance, that’s what heals.” Jasper leans back in his chair as a slight smile starts to appear. He winces, just barely, before settling in. “Accepting your life, and accepting your situation, even if you don’t like the outcome, you gotta own it. Because if you accept it, it no longer has power over you cause’ you made peace.” Jasper nods. “Fuck time—it only delays what you need to do: accept.”

Omar turns his head away from Jasper. Right now, he would do anything not to be seen, but that’s hard to do when you’re sitting in a car with pink fuzzy dice.

Jasper continues.

“I’m sure you still think about her. Hell, we all do with past relationships. It’s normal.”

Omar exhales.

“Dad, stop.”

“No… I’m just saying…”

“Stop.”

“But…”

“Just STOP!”

Omar pants as his chest rises up and down. Jasper goes to lurch forward, then catches himself, the movement costing him something. He straightens slowly, jaw straining, refusing to let his body win the argument.

“No,” Jasper insists. “This is important. You gotta quit letting that stuff hold you back. You gotta quit running from your problems. I… I don’t know how much time I got left, but this is what I want you to know.”

Jasper’s mouth twists and a silence sets in.

Omar stares out the window, focusing on the endless stretch of road ahead, anything to avoid eye contact. Talking about his failed relationship with his father felt like giving a speech naked: uncomfortably revealing. But his father’s words chipped away at him like water pouring on a rock, silently eroding resistance one mineral at a time.

After some miles and some consideration, Omar balls his fist, then releases it.

“Look, Dad… I… I can’t not think about her. We had our lives planned together. Our fuckin’ lives. I… I  gave her a ring. A RING!” He stops. Swallows. Stares at a fixed point on the windshield like if he looks hard enough it’ll give him the words. “Every time my mind wanders, it always goes to her. I can’t. I don’t know how to forget about her.”

A beat passes and the road hums underneath. Omar’s jaw is tight, and his eyes look away so nobody can trace them.

Jasper nods and glances up toward the clouds. He lets the silence breathe before he speaks.

“Look—I know I wasn’t there as much as you needed me to be, and certainly not when you were with Monica.” He pauses to clear his throat—the sound a little too wet, a little too long—and Omar’s hands tighten on the wheel without him realizing it. “But I want you to know something. Sometimes, relationships don’t work out—it’s a fact of life. Hell, they mainly don’t work out—that’s why it’s called dating.”

Jasper adjusts himself in his seat, the effort small but visible, the way a man tries to hide when the act of sitting has become an act of endurance.

“But just because one relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean you should close yourself off from the world. It doesn’t mean you compare everything new to everything old. And it certainly doesn’t mean you run away when things get tough. It means you just gotta be brave enough to think optimistically. Because only an idiot would let one bad experience ruin all future experiences. And you ain’t no idiot.”

Omar tries to focus on the road, but his father’s words seem to melt what was left of his shield.

Jasper shakes his head slowly.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…  but even love that burns out leaves embers.” He taps his chest once, lightly, like a man reminding himself he’s still here. “You’re allowed to keep the good memories. But you have to accept your situation and move on. Otherwise, you’re just gonna keep running and never find a way to come home.”

Omar stares straight, feeling exposed. He bites his lip and runs his hand down his face. The truth cuts deep and Omar’s bleeding. After a minute, Jasper softens his tone. His hand finds Omar’s shoulder and stays there—not a pat, not a squeeze, just the weight of a hand that doesn’t want to let go.

“I’m sorry you were hurt—it sucks. But it’ll get better… it always gets better. You have to trust me on this.”

Omar wipes a tear from his eye and focuses on the road. He opens his mouth. Closes it. And opens it again.

“…Yeah.” Omar finally manages before shaking his body and looking off into the distance.

The car continues to roll forward for another hour or so in deep silence. The hum of the road and the wind pouring in through the windows seemed to calm them both down, and Jasper returns to his brochure, studying it like it were a quiz. Every so often, his eyes close for a beat too long before snapping back open—not sleep, something closer to surrender—and each time they open again, it looks like it costs him a little more to do it.

Somewhere along the ride, Omar’s mind slowly starts to wander and replays his entire relationship with Monica. But this time, he was observing the experience and not reliving it. And the damning thought that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t as good as they seemed enters his mind. Perhaps he was over-romanticizing her beauty and forgetting the bruises. Perhaps they weren’t compatible and their relationship was born out of convenience. Perhaps he had it all wrong and was torturing himself for nothing. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.

Omar wipes his face, hoping to ground himself in the present moment. He sucks in air and sinks into his seat when Jasper leans forward and points toward the exit. The lean costs him—Omar can see it in the way Jasper’s breath catches, the way he uses the dashboard to push himself back upright like a man borrowing strength from wherever he can still find it.

“Pull off here.”

Omar nods.

They turn off the highway and follow a snaky road deep into the California countryside. Gone were the relics of roadside America—the McDonald’s, the mechanics, the motorists—and in came the country. God’s country, with all its natural California wonder. Rolling hills stained golden brown by a searing sun. Twisting oaks guarding the road. And way off in the distance, the jagged teeth of the Sierra Nevadas cut into the clouds. Omar scans the horizon and thinks, this is what the California fuss was all about.

After about twenty minutes of twisting and turning into the countryside, something begins to emerge through the tree line. First, the roofline—dark timber, broad and low, catching the afternoon light like it was built for it. Then the walls, pale stone and wide glass, sprawling across the hillside as if the land had simply grown it there. Manicured grounds sweep down from the entrance, lush and improbably green against the burnt California hills, with stone paths disappearing between gardens and what looks like a meditation terrace cut into the rock itself. It was the kind of place that costs more per night than most people make in a month, the kind of place that exists to make you feel like the world outside its gates is someone else’s problem.

Jasper leans forward and points, and this time he doesn’t bother hiding the wince.

“That’s where we’re headed,” he gruffs. “This is our final stop.”

Omar turns to Jasper and can see the water forming in his eyes. He quickly looks away and grips the steering wheel, his knuckles going pale.

Deep down, Omar wonders what version of “final” Jasper meant, and feels a cold feeling crawl up his spine.

“You’ll drop all that baggage here,” Jasper adds.

He settles back into his seat, his breath coming a little shorter now, his body quietly losing the argument it’s been having with itself all morning.

“And I will, too.”

Please comment, like, share, and tell me what you think! This is another chapter from my book.