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Carson Shaw. Born in 1995, in Lake Valley, Idaho. Her name and birthplace suggest she comes from a farm, but she didn’t. She never milked a cow or grew anything except for a tiny sapling of basil in a small pot on her south window. She was just a small-town girl (living in a lonely world, they’d say). She had done small-town girl things so far. She graduated high school; went to community college; started working as a librarian in the only public library there was in town, a very small one might I add; she married her high school sweetheart and best friend, Charlie Shaw, who was now an accountant, or something of that (boring) sort; she visited her father on the weekends, and her sister, Meg, was always there too, accompanied by her perfect husband and her perfect six-year-old twin boys.
Carson’s life seemed pretty much set. With Charlie, she had a nice house with a yard, and a family car, although they had no babies so far, not even after several years of being married (yes, she got married when she was 20, and yes, it was 2015, apparently some people still married at 20 in 2015).
But then the pandemic hit. First, they thought a two-week lockdown would do the trick. Then it became two months. Then three, then four months. Then things started to reopen, but most of the workers who could stay at home started getting used to working from home and that happened to Charlie. And with the library opening just part-time that meant that Carson had to spend most of the hours of her day at home with Charlie, and his stupid jokes, and his feet on top of the coffee table, and his wet towel twisted on their bedroom floor, and his socks tossed over his shoes in the middle of the living room.
Then she got tired.
It was a warm Tuesday afternoon in October 2022 when Carson decided she was tired of all that.
She was alone at home. Charlie was out of town visiting a client. But that whole thing wasn’t actually about Charlie, that was just the tip of the iceberg, the little sharpy thing that poke her awake.
It was about herself.
Carson was tired of all her small-town girl things: the decisions she’d made, the habits she’d take as her own, even when she knew she wasn’t like that. All the things she’d done so far made her feel like she was living somebody else’s life. Like she didn’t belong in her own body.
She got sick of not living her life for herself, of only living it for other people, to be there for the people she cared about. She got sick of taking care of her husband, and her father, and her sister’s boys, but never taking care of herself and her needs, and her goals, and her dreams.
She understood her mother now. The woman she had blamed for so many years for leaving her when she was only ten years old. She could see her mother facing the same struggles she was facing now, she could feel the blood boiling in her veins, the lightspeed beat of her heart, the urge to leave and never look back, and go after a new life, a life she could call her own. She could see that so clearly now. It had only taken her seventeen years to understand why her mother had left.
Carson searched her closet for her high school stuff box and found her old journal. Inside it, there was that old picture she felt guilty about loving so much. She leaned in against the closet door to brace herself for whatever that picture would make her feel at that moment, good or bad.
She was five back then, smiling happily, her mother was behind her, steadying her bike so she wouldn’t fall. The picture didn’t move, of course, this is not Harry Potter. But Carson could remember the scene clearly as if it had just happened. She could hear the sound of the breeze, her mother’s soothing voice saying “you’re doing so great, baby”, her own laugh excited about being able to ride a bike. Excited by the freedom.
She so hoped her mother had found that. Freedom.
She hoped she would find it too.
She’d made up her mind. She was going to go.
There was this Taylor Swift concert in New York on Saturday evening. The opening for the Midnights Tour.
She’d seen it on TV, that’s how somebody with no Instagram or Twitter account finds out about stuff. On TV, like in the 90s.
That meant taking those days off from work she’d saved up over the years. A road trip by herself, three days to go there, a weekend in New York, then three days to get back.
Eight days to think.
To be everywhere else but in her hometown.
To listen to her all occasions playlist and sing along with it for hours and hours. To find out who she was and what she really wanted.
She’d made up her mind. She was going to buy a concert ticket and go.
Travel by herself for the first time, go to her first really big concert by herself. YES!!!
Carson found Charlie’s old large green backpack. Pants and boy shorts, a bunch of tops, a jacket, some sweatshirts. Panties, bras, pajamas, a towel, a shampoo bottle, her toothbrush, a deodorant. A pair of sneakers, and socks. Her phone and old laptop and chargers. Her wallet with her ID and credit card and debit card and all the pocket money she had.
There were two clean pages at the end of her old notebook. She tore them out. Then she put her precious picture back inside it and held the journal close to her heart for a second before tossing it inside the bag.
She searched for a pen and once she found it, Carson started scribbling down rapidly every little thing she wanted to do this week that came to her mind at that very moment.
Go-Wild Post-Pandemic To-Do List
- Go to Taylor Swift’s concert in New York
- Stay in crappy motels
- Have fast food for every meal
- Get drunk
- Sing karaoke
(It would possibly be the above two combined)
- Find out who the fuck I am
The last one would probably take some time. She wasn’t sure a week getaway would do it. But Carson was fine with it, she just wanted to get it started.
And Taylor Swift in New York was a nice way to get it started.
She unlocked her phone and quickly worked on buying herself a concert ticket. Lady Fate might be on her side because she had no trouble finding it and buying it.
Carson thought for a second she should buy a plane ticket too and fly there as any sane person would do. But what about being adventurous?
How would she start to figure herself out by taking a quick safe boring flight there?
So ROAD TRIP! YES!!!
On the other torn piece of paper, Carson wrote down a note.
Charlie, I don’t know what to say except that I have to go.
I need some time.
Tell my dad I’m good and I’ll be safe and I’ll call him as soon as I can.
I’m taking the car.
- Carson
“What the hell am I doing?” Carson asked herself out loud. She rolled her eyes.
She wrote down she needed some time, but it didn’t feel like just some time , it felt like a permanent decision, a beginning of a change. And she got scared.
“Fuck this, LET'S GO”.
She left the note on the coffee table, right where Charlie would put his feet.
She loaded the car with her stuff, then sat down on the driver’s seat.
She gathered up all courage she had inside.
Once her phone was connected to the car by Bluetooth, Carson let her all occasions playlist fill her ears and maybe it would silence her racing thoughts.
She started driving, taking speed, singing along to whatever song was playing, cause she knew that 23h39min playlist by heart, and it was when she got to I-80 E that Billy Joel hit her.
But then if you’re so smart tell me why are you still so afraid?
She checked the dashboard. She would have to stop for gas in less than an hour. She’d have to stop to pee in two hours tops. She would have to stop to get something to eat in three hours and stop and spend the night somewhere in six hours or she would risk sleeping while driving.
She hated driving at night.
Carson felt herself wavering for a second and shook her head to try and let go of the doubt and the fear.
“No, no, no”, she told herself, “I’m going, I AM GOING”.
Fasten your seat belt, Taylor Swift.
Carson Shaw is coming for you .
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