Jackson Cowan

Do you think if you drive far enough, you'll forget? That the ache of the summer sun will help it go away?

That if you drive enough miles, you'll forget their twisted– "Fucking hell" Jackson spat, his hand running through his tangles of blond hair as he stood outside some seedy bar.

The noonday sun beat down relentlessly, its sweltering rays making the asphalt shimmer in the distance. Sweat dotted his brow as raucous laughter and the smell of stale beer wafted through the saloon-style doors.

He tugged at his hair, feeling frayed at the edges. Why after all these years had the memories resurfaced with such vengeance? It had been a scorching summer much like this one when it all went sideways.

With a heavy sigh, Jackson patted his jean pockets, hoping for a distraction. His fingers closed around his crumpled pack of cigarettes, pulling one out with trembling hands. After lighting up, the familiar nicotine hit soothed his frazzled nerves, if only momentarily.

Taking a long drag, tendrils of smoke escaped his lips as Jackson gazed down the dusty road, wondering if putting distance between himself and this town could quell the chaos in his head. His trusty motorcycle stood nearby, its worn leather seat gleaming in the glare. The bike had carried him through good times and bad, its engine faithful as ever.

As Jackson leaned back against the sun-warmed wall, his eyes followed a red-tailed hawk circling on the thermals. He remembered simpler days spent outdoors, carefree and unaware of life's capacity for ruin. Another pull off his cigarette and a kickstart revved the bike to life.

Were these thoughts going to haunt him until he finally found rest under loose dirt and sun bleached branches?

Until he finally snuff–

Jackson growled under his breath, "Fuck this." He wasn't going to let the past drag him under today. Grinding his cigarette into the dirt with a steel-toed boot, he vowed not to let those haunting memories ruin this sun-drenched afternoon.  For a moment, he simply breathed, focusing on the sounds and sensations of the present.

Then, without a backward glance, Jackson twisted the throttle and felt the bike leap forward with a rumble. Dust and pebbles scattered in their wake as the open road spread out before him.  Wind whipped through his hair and clung to his weathered leather jacket as the land rushed by in a sun-bleached blur.

Miles melted away beneath thick tires, each one carrying him further from that ramshackle bar and the ghost of his past. Out here on the empty two-lane, it was just him and the asphalt stretching to the hazy horizon.

Eventually, the sun hung heavy in the sky as Jackson cruised down the empty two-lane highway. In the distance, the silhouette of mountains rose jagged against a purple-tinged sky.

All he wanted was a drink—or five—to drown out the ghosts rattling around in his head. Another night wasted in some nameless, rundown motel was just what he needed.

As the miles slipped by in a dusty, orange haze, Jackson's mind wandered to darker places. Memories he'd stuffed down deep were clawing their way back up, spurred on by the empty stretch of road. He tried turning up the radio, hoping a few gravelly blues tunes might drown them out.

It didn't work. Their cries only grew louder, more insistent. His hands tightened on the grips until his leather gloves creaked.

Up ahead, he saw something that pulled him from his thoughts. A lone figure stood beside the road, thumb outstretched.

Jackson eased off the throttle, squinting through the dirt-caked windshield. It was a traveler like himself, tattered backpack swaying with each truck that blew past. Must have been waiting hours under the punishing sun. As he drew near, he could see the toll it had taken—dirt-smeared face, clothes ringing with sweat.

He rolled to a stop, kicking down the stand with a metallic grind. The figure turned, shoulders slumping with relief. Up close, Jackson saw eyes bright with weariness and lips cracked from the thirst.

With a sigh, Jackson twisted the throttle, peering over his shoulder at the traveler.

"Where ya headed, darling?"