“For achieving such tremendous success and reaching unprecedented heights in her studies and community involvement, we have the honor of presenting our outstanding student, Sara—you all know her well—with a gift certificate for a trip to picturesque France, with the right to choose any desired city,” the institute’s senior management and the beloved and loving faculty present a farewell gift to their best student as the graduates and guests applaud the diploma and awards ceremony.

“I worked hard for all of us! We all deserve this,” Sara says happily from the stage. “I just wish I wasn’t the only one getting the ticket. But don’t worry! I’ll go, check it out, and I’ll definitely invite all of you to visit me in France!”

“Go quick! We’re all waiting!” her friends and classmates shout from the crowd, filling the formal event with a chorus of warm cheers.

“I’m going to miss all of you terribly,” Sara struggles to contain the surge of emotion, still not fully grasping the true happiness of the open prospects before her.

“We’ll look forward to hearing from you,” her friends like the idea of visiting Sara in France.

“The sooner I leave, the sooner I can invite you,” everyone laughs, intentionally forgetting all the coming obstacles and tough challenges of adult life.

Her parents release their daughter across the ocean with a pang in their hearts. For them, a period of sleepless nights, constant worry, and hundreds of sedative pills begins. Everyone understands perfectly well, but they don’t hold her back. Such a talent has no business being in Dayton. It is the equivalent of a firefly enclosed in a black box. It cannot offer the world its extraordinarily beautiful light, suppressed by the walls of circumstance, which conceal and absorb its true shining essence behind an impenetrable darkness of limitations.

Sara would surely fade away within the cramped walls of Dayton. Gloomy thoughts plague her every day. The fear of staying here forever forces her to constantly plot an escape from the tenacious, constricting grip of an oppressive future. The institute’s gift turns out to be a genuine lifeline.

The firefly breaks free in the first days of June. The start of summer treats the inhabitants of dreary Dayton to unexpected warmth. Usually, June isn’t as welcoming as it may seem. Sara is thoroughly sick of everything. And the good weather won’t distract her from the anticipation of landing on the blessed soil of France.

Only her parents see the promising young artist off at the airport. Sara said goodbye to her friends at the institute. Ray, the girl’s father, easily drives the family to the farewell spot in his snappy blue pickup, which he bought from a neighbor at a good price. Thick clouds of black smoke, mixed with road dust, trail behind them.

“Let me help you,” Lucy, Sara’s mother, gets out of the truck first, assisting her daughter as she climbs out of the high cab.

“Thanks,” Sara gets out of the car, and the two of them walk ahead.

Her father pulls a small, lilac suitcase with a round sticker of their home state, Ohio, out of the trunk. A touch of the light patriotism typical of locals. He dutifully follows them, glancing around. They enter the spacious, bright building of the Dayton International Airport, feeling a little constrained.

“So, the time has come to say goodbye,” her mother embraces her daughter with tears in her eyes. “Forgive me for everything and only remember the good things about us. Start a new life. Do everything you wish and how you wish. Take care of yourself,” she whispers the instruction so her father doesn’t hear.

“Okay, Mom,” Sara smiles lightly.

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” her father hugs her tightly and kisses her cheek, gently patting her back. He generally tries never to show his emotions or feelings, especially in public.

“Don’t be sad, it’s all for the best,” Sara wipes away a couple of unexpected, solitary tears, takes her beloved suitcase, and walks into the depths of the airport. The expansive space gradually swallows the young girl’s slender figure. Ray and Lucy leave the airport without looking back. They return to the car and quietly drive back to their house, now empty without their daughter, and back to their customary life.

“Your ticket,” a nice girl at the counter says, handing over the precious item that opens the door to a new life.

“Thank you so much,” Sara replies, sharing her happy smile. She successfully completes the check-in for her flight.

“Enjoy your flight,” a friendly flight attendant wishes her with a smile at the plane entrance.

“Thank you,” Sara says, still smiling as she boards among the first passengers. She calmly takes a seat by the window. It’s a habit; she always asks for a window seat, no matter where she goes—bus, train, and now, a plane. She gazes out at the airport’s long runways. How many millions of take-offs and landings have occurred here over the airport’s long existence?

Her favorite music plays in her headphones. Just before leaving the house, she’d saved a week’s worth of songs, specifically curated for the trip, onto her phone. The selection was difficult. Each song was a struggle; she had to carefully filter out any that might spoil her mood. She already misses her parents a little, even though she was just hugging them with teary eyes a few minutes ago. It feels slightly strange. She wouldn’t call her parents exemplary. Phrases and events from the past echo in her mind.

“Sara needs a new school uniform,” her mother quietly asks. “Last year’s is worn out.”

“I don’t have money for a new uniform!” her father sharply declares.

“The uniform doesn’t cost much more than your liquor,” Sara’s mother risky reminds him. “You can skip one day of drinking, and the problem will be solved.”

“I’m already giving her an education!” her father proudly boasts after another glass. “So I have the right to drink more than anyone! And I’m in my own house! I do as I see fit! And I spend my money on what I want!” Yes, her parents helped their daughter get an education. But that help significantly loses its value when Sara remembers what she went through. The eternal parental quarrels, the lack of attention, love, simple affection, the deprivation of everything the girl deserved, all in favor of her father’s daily drinking. “And why are you looking at me like that, you ungrateful girl?!” the painful beatings in the evenings hurt the most.

“Jessica is having roasted duck with apples tonight,” Sara whispers, looking out the window while her mother sets the table.

“We used to have a dinner like that once,” Lucy recalls with a sad smile.

“And what’s wrong with having potatoes for dinner?” Ray protests, walking into the kitchen unexpectedly. “Whoever isn’t hungry can leave the kitchen.”

“We were just talking,” his unhappy wife defends herself.

“I know your ‘talking’!” Sparks of malice appear in his drunken gaze.

When other normal families sat down for dinner, in their family, it was like a horror movie; a prolonged, predictable argument would start after sunset, inevitably ending in bruises, scrapes, and bitter tears. Instead of the necessary happy child’s shouts and infectious laughter, the house was rocked by blows and running tears. The roar of her father’s voice crushed the sensitive child’s mind. Sara often went to bed hungry. Not because there was no food in the house, but simply because she didn’t want any. She practically never had an appetite. She wanted to quietly die in her small bed, not to see or endure any of it. She wasn’t lucky in her modest, sorrowful wish. Morning came again and again, filled with the heavy residue of the previous day.

“How long are you going to sleep? Get to work!” Her father, irritated by a headache, delivered a fresh portion of hurtful and undeserved phrases to his wife and daughter every morning.

“I can’t take this anymore!” Lucy’s patience ran out; she was fed up with her husband’s terrible behavior.

“What is it you can’t take?” her husband perceived every phrase as a threat.

“I’m tired of all this!” For the first time, Lucy loudly and clearly voiced her discontent. That’s when the girl realized she was losing her mother.

“And what are you going to do?” Ray inquired sarcastically and smugly.

“There’s only one solution. I’m leaving you!” the woman rushed for the exit with nothing, not even having packed her things.

“Mommy, don’t go,” Sara whispered through tears, holding her mother’s hand. “Everything will only get worse.”

“I’m sorry, daughter. I’ll either leave, or I’ll die here. And don’t worry, everything will work out,” her mother tried to calm her daughter, but they both knew it was a lie.

“Good! Get out!” the already drunk father proudly shouted at his leaving wife. The door slammed shut, leaving the father and daughter alone.

Lucy left for Peter, a respectable man, a colleague from work, heartlessly abandoning little Sara to face the perpetually drunk and enraged monster her father had become in her eyes. She looks at him the same way now but tries not to show how she feels. Things like this stay with you for life. It’s easy to leave a bad impression, especially in a child’s memory; it’s impossible to fix later. Sara cried out all her tears in childhood; she never cries anymore, no matter what happens. That’s why the little tears at the airport today surprised her so much. She must be sad to be leaving Dayton.

“Why is it taking so long?! Can’t you make dinner yourself?” her drunk and angry father shouted.

“I’m trying, please forgive me.” The girl was exhausted after every hard day.

“Try harder!” Another round of nitpicking was accompanied by another round of drinking.

Before her mother left, everything seemed awful. Then the girl realized things could be worse. Ray started drinking even more. He lashed out at his little daughter more often. It turned out it could be more frequent. Now she got it for two, taking her mother’s place. Her father’s alcohol-worn body began to fail.

“Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but my father is doing badly again,” Sara frequently called an ambulance to save her father from a low and shameful alcoholic death.

“Don’t worry, Sara, we’ll be there soon,” the paramedics knew the troubled house. They came in with a sad smile, looking at the weeping Sara. “We’ll help your daddy now. And everything will be alright,” they tried to cheer up the sensitive girl. They understood that in such a situation, it was impossible to lift spirits with a smile. “That’s it. We gave him an injection; now your daddy will sleep soundly and recover. And this is for you,” the paramedics often treated the girl to tasty cough and mood-lifting lozenges.

“Thank you,” Sara smiled through her small tears. The doctors left, and she was alone again among the nightmares. The main character of the terrible series relived the same scenes every day. She believed that the black streak in her family would end someday. She turned out to be right. A white streak began. Not exactly white, of course—more of a crooked gray line.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” One day, her father’s heart failed. He hadn’t yet managed to drink himself into unconsciousness, as usual. He felt the intense, life-threatening pain very clearly.

“I…“ Ray, unable to say anything, simply held his breath, fearing that any inhale might be his last.

“Don’t worry, Sara, everything’s fine. Why don’t you go play in the yard? The girls are waiting for you,” the familiar nurse gently suggested.

“Okay,” the girl herself couldn’t stand such scenes anymore. She simply left the house.

“We’ll sort things out here,” the paramedics said more sternly, looking at the dying Ray. Luckily for him, the medics arrived in time and saved the slow suicide.

“Why are you leaving?” Peter openly wondered, baffled.

“Sara is growing up,” Lucy argued with something few men would understand. The poor, long-suffering girl had just turned thirteen. The beginning of a new difficult period in the girl’s awful life. Lucy knew her daughter needed her during such a special time for a developing, forming young woman.

“And you’re ready to go back to that nightmare?” Peter was still surprised.

“Things are a little simpler now,” after that incident, the father of the now grown-up Sara quit drinking. Learning that Ray had stopped drinking, Lucy thought about it a lot, had her doubts, but eventually returned home. Her husband walked around like a guilty dog, head down, unable to look his wife in the eye. Lucy couldn’t look her daughter in the eye either, having left without a second thought, abandoning the little girl alone with the monster for seven long years. She had done the worst thing possible.

“Here, take this, girl,” the neighbors always spoke to Sara with genuine kindness, helping during the difficult time.

“Thank you all so much,” Sara cherished everyone as family, considering them her one big family.

“We all pitched in a little,” mostly, the kind people brought food.

“I hope this fits you; everything is practically new. Kids grow fast; they don’t have time to wear things out. If it fits, wear it, don’t be shy,” those who had children the girl’s age brought clothes.

“Thank you. These are such beautiful things,” the girl was always genuinely happy about the new items.

“And you’re ready for school,” the whole neighborhood chipped in to get Sara ready for school. They bought pens, notebooks, and textbooks. The girl didn’t look rich, but she looked respectable.

“What if they tease me at school?” Sometimes, the girl still remembered the harsh realities of life, where cruelty abounds, especially from children.

“Let them just try!” Her neighborhood friends always supported and defended her, despite the material and emotional situation in her family.

“I am infinitely grateful to all of you.” The love for one’s hometown lies in the close people. Farewell tears are dedicated to them.

“Now we can afford a little more,” Lucy started bringing in more money after returning home. Her boss knew the family’s situation well and gave her a raise.

“And I have a decent salary, too,” Ray found a job as an electrician at the local factory.

“Here, take this, for our Sara’s studies,” the neighbors didn’t stop helping, secretly paying for Sara’s education.

“That’s exactly the right amount,” the woman at the bank counter happily announces, counting the deposited money. “People have been bringing small amounts all morning,” this was the little secret behind the girl’s high school education. Sara got into college honestly and completely on her own merit.

“Thank you all so much!” the neighbors remained her true extended family. She said goodbye to each one separately. She hugged and kissed them like the dearest people in the world. “I wish I could take all of you on my trip!” she strongly wanted to repay them for their help and support.

“Then a whole plane wouldn’t be enough, and you only have one ticket,” her friends and loved ones answered with a laugh.

“Hurry up,” Sara whispers, looking out the window. She is doing her best not to show the inexpressible delight of the trip, or the whole college would flip out. All of Dayton would learn about the girl’s great happiness.

“Please turn off all electronic devices,” the slender flight attendant approaches. With a friendly smile, she asks Sara to turn off her perfectly selected music.

“Yes, of course,” Sara says, smiling back as she turns off her favorite song. She returns to reality. The cabin is completely full. She is sitting on the plane now and can’t believe her immense good fortune. She still doesn’t fully grasp the incredible turn in her stagnant, dead-end life.

“Esteemed passengers, please listen to the safety instructions,” the flight attendants routinely conduct the briefing for the passengers.

“Please fasten your seatbelts,” another flight attendant checks if all the belts are fastened.

“Goodbye,” Sara whispers, looking at the airport building.

“Esteemed passengers, this is your captain speaking. We are starting our taxi and are leaving the airport of the beautiful city of Dayton. Scenic France awaits us all. Have a pleasant journey.” The plane smoothly gains speed. The runway slides past her eyes so quickly that it seems the flight has already begun. They aren’t flying through the sky but across the ground itself. A jolt, and the plane confidently lifts into the air.

Sara feels her own wings, lighter than air and whiter than clouds, growing. The girl is leaving her hated life behind. The difficult past, with its small patches of light, gradually fades. Ahead lies only a tempting, unknown future.

Voluminous, rolling clouds settle in the porthole for the entire flight, occasionally allowing a view of the home planet from the unprecedented height. Yes, there’s a little sadness in the soul, no one argues with that. Yet, joy and lightness prevail throughout the body. The stark landscapes of the huge country give way to the massive, uniform expanse of the ocean.

The only variety here lies in the shades of the element, from tender blue to an intense blue-black, like ink. The girl once knocked over a bottle of such ink when she was a child, staining the light-colored carpet that had to be thrown away. Sara always loved the ocean, though she had never seen it up close. She yearned to go every year, but she never managed to reach a sandy coast. She loved it, yet was afraid of it deep down. The danger lurking within the depths of the element simultaneously attracts and frightens the inquisitive, young, and energetic girl.

Now, she is closer than ever to what she desires. It seems she could reach out and touch the water, feel the refreshing dampness, despite the thousands of feet below. Sara would have walked the miles across land. She wouldn’t have needed any transportation, just a comfortable pair of shoes. Since childhood, she has loved to walk long distances. She used to sneak out of the house at night for a stroll, to be alone with herself and get a good rest from another difficult day, in every sense of the word.

She eagerly anticipates frequent walks in picturesque places. The plane shakes a little. The passengers tense up. Some clutch the armrests with fingers hardened by fear. But not Sara. Happy travelers don’t fear turbulence. The girl notices nothing bad during the long, exhausting flight across the ocean. The noisy passengers in the seats nearby, the shaking of the plane, the slight coolness by the window. Everything now brings her only joy.

A man about seventy years old sits next to the girl; his hair looks remarkably like clumps of unpicked cotton. He is flying home, joyful, looking at a family photo. He has a large family. Children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. He also looks separately at a worn black-and-white photograph of his once-young wife. He smiles with tears in his eyes. Sara worries the entire time that the man might be overcome by the intensity of his emotions.

Behind the sensitive passenger sits a young girl, a little younger than Sara. She’s learning French from a phrasebook, silently moving her lips, and at the same time reading a study outline with underlined definitions and complex formulas. Clearly, she’s an exchange student. Though, what difference does it make? If she thinks about every one of the two hundred-plus people on the plane, she won’t have time to enjoy the flight.

The passengers in the neighboring seats held the firefly’s attention for only a short time. It is much more interesting to observe the beauty of the world from the height than to look at ordinary people whom she can examine at any moment on the ground. Maybe they have a rich life story, an interesting future, and a fulfilling present, but for Sara, they are merely temporary fellow travelers whom she will forget as soon as she descends the steep gangway after her first flight.

“Would you like anything?” the flight attendant walks gracefully through the cabin like a model on a narrow runway, offering snacks and drinks. Sara has lost her appetite from happiness.

“Orange juice, please,” Sara agrees so as not to leave the flight attendant’s polite offer unanswered. Her neighbors boldly take full sets. They are doing the right thing for practical reasons; it’s not a short journey. The monotonous drone of the powerful engines lulls Sara to sleep and plunges her into a deep slumber with a smile on her face.

Early morning, a path along a mirror-like lake. The spring freshness awakens a good mood for the whole day. What could be better than an invigorating morning jog amid the peaceful silence? The trees are asleep, gently wrapped in the remnants of the mist. The sun is only about to rise, yet Sara’s sneakers are already making a path beneath her strong, beautiful legs.

Light, easy movements add enjoyment to the morning. The feelings from her sporty youth in school remain in the girl’s body and memory forever. There are no thoughts at all. Complete freedom of mind. She simply runs, enjoying the quiet spring morning. In moments like these, she wishes the morning would never end. It seems it will always be like this.

She turns her ankle. She loses her balance, almost falling. She holds herself up with effort. The world shakes and swims before her eyes. Beams of light impudently pierce the peacefulness of sleep. Not the dawn, but the momentary slumber. Sara wakes up from the landing gear touching the runway. She yawns, carefully restraining herself and covering her mouth with a neat palm. Rubbing her eyes, she looks into the oval, slightly fogged-up porthole. The long-awaited airship port.

Sara holds back a joyful smile; she doesn’t want to look like an ecstatic simpleton. Her body is eager to leave, but she has to wait. That’s reality. To get what you want, you have to wait patiently, especially if you can’t influence the events taking place. The fragile girl definitely won’t be able to force her way through the living corridor to the exit. A couple of minutes is nothing compared to the long years of waiting for this happy moment. The plane stops. The seat belt sign goes out. She can unbuckle the belt, in which Sara noticed no safety whatsoever.

“Dear passengers,” the captain says in a tired voice, “we have landed at the international airport in France. Thank you all for the pleasant company on the journey. Have a nice day.” The passengers sluggishly retrieve their small carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments, slowly moving toward the exit, clearing a path for those following.

Only the seventy-year-old emotional man and Sara hurry. He is rushing to his family; she is eager to taste a new life. To breathe the air of freedom. She grabs her backpack and heads with the living stream out of the plane toward the baggage claim. A special bus, obediently waiting for everyone by the gangway glistening in the sun, transports the passengers to the airport building.

After a few minutes of driving, the arriving passengers enter the airport building. A second bus delivers the rest of the travelers. The baggage carousel is empty and still. A noticeable tension appears in the room. Passengers, thoroughly tired from the nine-hour flight, begin to worry and fret about their luggage. Their legs are tired, and there aren’t enough seats for everyone. The first quiet murmurs of discontent can be heard. Sara is unaffected by the situation. The girl stands calmly to the side, patiently waiting for her beloved suitcase to appear.

The scaly ribbon lazily moves past the gathered onlookers. The large, black, and endlessly long snake stubbornly crawls forward. The passengers move closer. The first suitcases appear from the wide rubber chute at the exit. Five minutes pass without joy for Sara. Ten minutes bring a slight disappointment. Fifteen minutes become a mild sadness. At the twenty-seventh minute, the joy of reuniting with her luggage illuminates the girl.

The lilac suitcase with the stamp of her distant home state is in her hands. She rushes toward the coveted exit. Her step quickens with every second. The wheels of the suitcase roll faster and faster across the clean, shiny, light-colored floor. If Sara hadn’t needed her clothes, she would have dropped the suitcase right there, without a second thought, and run without looking back.

The airport’s automatic doors open onto the new life Sara has dreamed of since childhood. Without pausing at the exit, the girl heads toward the local taxi stand. The French sun warmly greets the traveler with a comforting embrace. A good sign, promising pleasant moments ahead. On the way to the parking lot, a young man about her age appears.

“Miss! Where do you need to go?” the guy asks in flawless English with a kind smile, holding a worn set of keys with a red oval keychain.

“Far,” Sara offers a restrained, dry smile in return, not wanting to make an enemy of the first person she meets. She continues to look out for local cab drivers.

“How far?” the young man asks, persistent.

“You certainly wouldn’t know the name,” she snaps almost involuntarily, without looking at the bothersome young man.

“What’s with the bias, miss?” the guy playfully complains. “If someone’s American, does that mean they don’t know cities or how to drive around France?”

“You’re American?” Sara is pleasantly surprised, looking at him as if he were a long-lost friend. “Why didn’t you say so right away?”

“And you didn’t guess right away?” the young man grins.

“I guessed, but now I know for sure,” Sara’s tone softens as she talks to the persistent guy.

“That’s good. Where do you need to go? Or should I guess until your distrust of me and your suspicions about my driving skills on French soil disappear?”

“Solyè, have you heard of it?” Sara turns fully toward him.

“You won’t believe it!” the guy laughs. “I'm heading right there!”

“You’re teasing me!” the girl smiles timidly, narrowing her eyes in disbelief.

“I don’t joke about such serious things,” her compatriot declares, almost sincerely. “Ready to go?” he smiles again, enticing her toward the journey.

“You aren’t, by any chance, a maniac?” Sara asks, half-jokingly, becoming wary.

“Let that be a little surprise for you,” the guy smiles slyly.

“Fine,” Sara watches him warily. After a moment, she completely forgets her caution and walks straight behind him. “At least tell me your name,” she asks politely, catching up.

“Sean,” the quick-footed, hurrying guy replies, turning back for a moment.

“Nice to meet you. Sara,” she stops, extending her hand while looking at the guy’s back. “I didn’t think my first meeting in France would be with an American.”

“It’s quite a surprise for me too,” Sean feels the expectation of a handshake behind him. He steps over, gently and smilingly shakes the girl’s delicate hand. He immediately remembers France, leans down, and kisses the soft, pale skin closer to her fingers. The girl tries not to show her pleasant embarrassment. However, notes of hidden shyness are revealed to the guy’s attentive gaze.

“We can go,” Sara smiles modestly, encouraging him to move on.

“Maybe we can switch straight to first names?” Sean’s forward proposal sounds.

“I’d love to!” Sara doesn’t even realize that her tone of voice reveals a liking for her new acquaintance. She immediately feels shy. Sean notices and smiles secretly, hiding a slight grin so as not to embarrass the sweet girl even more.

“There she is!” the guy genuinely exclaims.

“Who’s ‘she'?” the girl peers in the direction of the American’s gaze, expecting to see a friend or girlfriend, feeling a sharp pang of unexplained jealousy.

“My dear Sandy,” Sean approaches a used car with no discernible make or model signs visible on the darkened, long-faded paint.

“You named her?” Sara is surprised by this unfamiliar notion. She is quietly relieved that there won’t be another female passenger.

“Of course! A car is the best friend a man or woman can have, for anyone who knows what they’re doing,” Sean explains enthusiastically. “For many, it’s their one true love.”

“Yes, you’re right. Some people love their cars more than people. And they’re right to,” she whispers, looking over Sandy.

“It’s not even just that. Some people have no one else but their car, so all their love and affection goes to the iron heart, and it’s mutual, too. Although machines can have different personalities.”

“I agree with that, too. Not the worst option,” Sara recalls all the heartache and pain experienced by the heroes in the novels she read during her long years at the institute.

“In those people’s case, it’s the best,” Sean lovingly strokes Sandy’s faded red body, almost kissing it. If she wasn’t so dusty, he would definitely do it, without being shy around his new acquaintance.

“Do you really need to go to Solyè?” Sara can’t believe the coincidence.

“Actually, no,” Sean drawls.

“What do you mean, no?” the girl stops abruptly. Her first instinct is to walk away from this strange man.

“I didn’t know where to go, and then I saw an American. The decision came to me right away,” Sean tries to explain the unsettling oddity as clearly and gently as possible.

“How did you know I was American?” Sara interrupts, stopping her impulse to flee.

“The sticker on your suitcase,” the guy smiles calmly.

“Oh, right,” Sara feels foolish. “Why did you decide to go to Solyè? Didn’t you have other options?”

“I didn’t know which city to pick. I trusted chance. You helped,” he elaborates on the story of his choice.

“You crossed the Atlantic Ocean, flew to France, without knowing exactly where you were going?” Sara is astonished by the young man’s adventurous spirit. She shudders, imagining what it would be like if she were in his place.

“My friends and I arranged to meet here. No one showed up,” Sean sadly admits that he no longer has friends.

“Why didn’t they come if you agreed to meet?” Sara quietly probes.

“They all suddenly had urgent things come up. Families, jobs, houses.”

“I understand,” Sara whispers, having seen people’s plans fall apart for the same reasons. “How did your beloved car end up here?”

“She’s not mine,” the guy admits.

“Not yours? But you just said,” Sara feels a fresh surge of apprehension at the news.

“I mean, not beloved,” Sean pauses for a second. “Yet,” he adds, quickly correcting himself. “I bought her today. Now she’s my dear one.”

“The way you treat her, I thought you’d been together for a long time,” the shifts in mood around Sean strongly affect the girl’s emotional state.

“Cars love affection and warmth,” the guy strokes the car’s roof, philosophizing. “You have to treat them well from the first minute; then you’ll have fewer problems with them. And it’s more pleasant to drive.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Sara quietly approaches the passenger door.

“A car?” Sean clarifies with a smile.

“No, a real girlfriend,” Sara smiles shyly, looking away toward the spot where angry local taxi drivers are watching them.

“Oh, a girlfriend!” the guy yells out happily, almost nervously. “No girlfriend for a long time. Kind of never had one,” he rubs the back of his head, blushing, shifting his gaze in the same direction.

“How so?” Sara looks at him uncomprehendingly.

“I don’t even know how to explain,” Sean ponders, flustered.

“Okay, let’s drop it,” the girl decides not to torment the guy with personal questions he apparently doesn’t know the answer to, or thinks it’s better to keep silent about. “We need to go.”

“You tell me first if you have someone or not? And then we’ll drop it,” the guy tries to seize a fleeting chance to find out the detail he is curious about so he won’t have to agonize over guessing later.

“I don’t have anyone,” Sara is secretly glad that she can answer exactly like that. Sean is even happier to hear the answer. He steps closer.

“Please step aboard our comfortable limousine,” he proudly opens the car door.

“Thank you,” Sara nods gratefully, settling onto the soft, albeit old, passenger seat, covered with a barely visible layer of dust, like all of Sandy’s interior.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Sean replies, closing the misaligned door. “Just don’t mind it—no one’s ever ridden in the passenger seat with me before.”

“It’s fine,” the girl reassures him, returning to the excitement of the journey.

Sandy comes to life on the second try. Sara glances warily at the driver; the road ahead is long. Yet, with Sean, she feels calm for some reason, even in the risky car with the stranger, though he is her age. They pull out almost without a hitch. They are only slightly delayed in the traffic jam leaving the airport. In the city, the roads are still empty at this time. In half an hour, the traffic will be frozen solid.

Sara and Sean are lucky to pass through the big city. They didn’t hit the traditional evening rush hour. They bypassed the massive gathering of people eager to leave the workday and the years of a tiresome workplace behind and get home. Thousands of people and cars merge into one loud, continuous flow.

A sign marks the city limits. Ahead lies the evening drive toward Solyè. Sean and Sara travel in silence. The awkward quiet is broken by French music on the radio. They didn’t bother to search for an English station. Why travel to France only to drag America along? In June, the sun stays longer in the sky, but not this long. Sara can’t figure out why the Sun is so high. Then it hits her. Even though nine hours have passed, the time now is the same as when the plane left Dayton. And the traffic jam they faced wasn’t the evening one, but the morning one, which passed a couple of hours ago. She feels like a simpleton again.

“What’s on your mind?” the guy turns the radio down a little.

“Time zones,” the girl replies with an awkward smile, trying to look smart.

“I got caught up on the time, too!” Sean laughs, completely unashamed of his mistake. Now Sara joins in the laughter without any shyness. They drive, laughing at themselves.

“Where are you from?” the adventurous traveler begins the conversation, trying to keep the drive from becoming tedious.

“Detroit. And you?” he guessed it from the sticker. He quickly glances into her eyes, showing interest in the conversation. Then he returns his gaze to the road. He’s used to looking people in the eye under any circumstances, but he still needs to watch the road.

“Comparatively close. I’m from Dayton,” she answers, trying to recall if the city name or just the state name was on the round sticker on her suitcase.

“Comparatively,” Sean smiles. “At least the names sound similar.” He wants to establish at least a light connection.

“Have you ever been there?” she glances at the driver, realizing there’s no need to wait for him to turn to her.

“No, I haven’t,” he shrugs. “I definitely will visit when I get back to the States. Maybe we’ll see each other there. If we don’t, why even bother going back?”

“Anything’s possible,” Sara replies with a spark of joy. They’ve known each other for such a short time and are already planning to meet again thousands of miles away. This thought boosts her mood even more.

A loud explosion comes from Sean’s side. The car swerves all over the road. The driver tries to pull over to the shoulder as smoothly as possible. Fortunately, there is no one else on this stretch of highway. The girl holds tightly onto the door handle, realizing that a plane is much safer than a car, even though it flies high and the chances of survival are lower.

Clutching the leather-wrapped steering wheel with both hands, Sean stares paralyzed at the road ahead. He still can’t quite grasp what happened, but he is already glad they are alive. Sara quietly shares his life-affirming sentiment. They silently consider what to do first. Sean looks in the mirror. The road is empty. He gets out of the car. He looks around.

“Nothing serious happened,” the guy reassures his passenger, though he is a bit shaken himself, as this is his first time. “A rear tire blew out.”

“It happens,” Sara tries not to show her fright.

Sean takes the spare tire, a jack, and wrenches from the trunk. He instinctively does everything necessary. When knowledge is absent, intuition comes to the rescue; one only needs to moderate one’s pride and accept the helping hand. He doesn’t take long. The repair goes without major complications—except for the sun beating down on his back and the hot tools. Sean is more bothered by thirst. He forgot to buy water when they left the city. And it feels awkward to ask Sara. He replaces the flat tire with the worn spare. He puts the tools back in the trunk and gets back behind the wheel. His grip is much lighter now. He looks at the girl. He wants to ask about the water, but pride keeps the question locked away.

“Are you thirsty?” fortunately for Sean, Sara notices the thirst in his downcast eyes. She pulls a half-liter bottle of water out of her backpack, which she bought at the Dayton airport while waiting for the flight.

“A little,” the guy looks eagerly at the lifesaving liquid. He takes only a couple of sips, just in case the girl gets very thirsty before they can reach the nearest store.

“I feel like a drink, too,” Sara feels a pleasant concern, smiling slightly as she looks at the road. This is the first time the girl has felt thirsty all day. She carefully and gently takes a few small sips. Sandy starts up, and the journey continues.

“And why are you going to Solyè?” Sean quickly glances at his companion again as the tension from the incident with the tire dissipates.

“My institute gave me a trip to any city in France I chose,” Sara recalls with a smile.

“So why Solyè exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Sara shrugs. “I liked the name.”

“We’ve got one thing in common then,” Sean grins. “And you’re surprised I’m going to the first city a stranger names,” he gently teases the smiling Sara with his remark.

“This kind of travel is new to me,” the girl expresses her own surprise.

“Why’s that?” the driver turns sharply.

“I’ve always submitted to circumstances, acted according to instruction and a clear plan. I tried to do everything reasonably and rely on common sense as much as possible,” she recalls heavily the burden of thoughts that had weighed on her her entire life.

“Yeah, you couldn’t be called an adventurer. You don’t resemble a creative person at all.”

“Actually, creativity awakened a new character trait in me,” Sara smiles, happy with the quality her soul had acquired. “Now I have the opportunity to be my true self.”

“A creative person after all?” Sean smiles.

“Yes,” she answers modestly and quietly. The radio almost drowns out her words.

“And what field do you create in?” the guy turns the radio down further; it almost falls silent.

“Visual arts,” Sara is relaxing more and more in the comfortable seat.

“What do you depict?”

“At the institute, I drew what the program required,” she sighs, regretting the limited time for free creation.

“And now?” Sean asks, not waiting for her to continue.

“I draw whatever my soul desires,” and in those words, she feels the joy of freedom of action.

“And what does your creative soul desire?”

“I love drawing birds. It doesn’t matter what with: pencils, watercolor, ink, oils, gouache. It’s hard to capture the shimmering variety of colors of the freest creatures on Earth.”

“Don’t you paint with oil?” Sean is surprised by the unusual artist.

“People do. But I don’t like it when they say that. It grates on my ears,” Sara admits. “I like to draw beauty, not paint it. You paint walls, not pictures.”

“A rebel even among artists,” Sean laughs. “Do you have any drawings with you?”

“Why do you want to see them?” the girl feels shy.

“I’m curious. From what you said, I understood you couldn’t take your eyes off them without leaving a piece of your soul there.”

“I’m sorry, they’re all back home,” the girl sadly spreads her hands.

“Will you show me later?” Sean hopes.

“Of course!” Sara is secretly delighted. Now they have another reason to meet. She grows quiet, lost in thought.

“Is something wrong?” the guy’s worried gaze lingers a little longer in Sara’s eyes. He brakes gently.

“I’ll show you if I get back home,” she whispers quietly, looking out the window.

“Aren’t you planning to go back home?” Sean watches the road carefully, picking up the speed he’d dropped.

“I dreamed so strongly of breaking away from there my whole life. I doubt I’ll want to return,” Sara takes a scrap of paper and a sharply sharpened plain pencil from her pocket.

“So you’re a little bird then!” the captivated guy concludes joyfully.

“In what sense?” the girl struggles to return from her gloomy thoughts.

“You broke out of the cage, you feel long-awaited freedom. You can fly peacefully in the sky. And like any little bird, you’ll never want to return to the cage,” he voices his companion’s true feelings, which she herself hadn’t consciously recognized before.

“Yes, you’re right, I won’t want to,” Sara falls silent, looking at the road. Her smile holds both the sadness that accompanied her year after year and the joy she’s finding now.

“I’m sorry I brought up an unpleasant topic,” Sean apologizes quietly and guiltily, noticing her somewhat troubled emotions.

“It’s nothing terrible. The past doesn’t upset me anymore, and I’m not sad about the present or the future. The present is already cheering me up, and the future hasn’t arrived yet. I can only hope that everything will be at least a little better than in the past.”

“That’s right,” Sean supports her reasoning.

“And what do you do?” Sara shifts the attention to the guy, not wanting to replay memories in her mind anymore.

“I live,” a satisfied smile appears on Sean’s face.

“In what sense?” the girl doesn’t quite grasp the hidden meaning in his answer; there’s no definite clarity on the surface.

“I also got rid of a past that was dragging me down,” Sean explains with a sad smile.

“What was so difficult about your past? If it’s not a secret, of course.”

“Nothing much. I struggled to finish school. Dropped out of college and left, as you can see, went far away in search of a better life.”

“I see; I’m the same way,” they smile, realizing the similarity of their situations. “What will you do next? Will you just live without any aspiration or goal?”

“I don’t know yet,” the guy either genuinely doesn’t know or is hiding his plans.

“Such carefree living,” Sara notices a certain secrecy in his answer, but allows him to evade the truth, understanding everyone has the right to keep quiet.

“And what will you be doing in Solyè?” Sean predictably changes the subject.

“Drawing,” Sara reminds him. “I’m traveling on behalf of the Art Institute.”

“Ah, yes, right. Silly question. I thought you are going on vacation.”

“No, it’s not silly,” Sara reassures him. “Artists often long for a break from their beloved craft.”

“And you don’t long for a break from it?”

“For me, creativity is a break from the whole world. It’s the only way I can forget everything and everyone, even my worldly self. I find my hidden, true self.”

“And will you forget about me when you get to Solyè and pick up your brushes and paints?” Sean looks at Sara with the eyes of a faithful dog afraid of separation from its owner.

“I don’t think so,” she answers in a cheerful voice, looking at Sean.

“Well, I certainly won’t forget you!” the guy assures her, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Don’t swear on it! Time will tell,” Sara gently laughs at the guy’s seriousness.

“You’ll see, I’ll show time!” Sean confidently insists, showing his resolve.

“I’ll take your word for it. Are we there?” they drive past a road sign, but Sara doesn’t manage to read the city’s name.

“Almost,” the guy smiles sadly, regretting the end of the journey. The unwelcome and inevitable parting is approaching.

“Don’t be upset, maybe we’ll see each other again,” Sara tries to comfort the guy. And herself.

“We’ll definitely see each other, but when?” Sean just looks at the road with a mournful expression. He wants to say a lot. He remains silent, considering his words and thoughts inappropriate. There’s no time left at all. Traffic is getting heavier. It’s a small town, but there are many cars. “Where should I drop you off?” he scans the streets for a suitable parking spot.

“Wherever is convenient for you,” Sara smiles modestly, looking at the driver with trust.

“It’s convenient for me everywhere,” Sean smiles sadly. “I’ll drop you off near the train station; it’s easier to find lodging there. The locals themselves will offer it. Don’t rush to agree to the first offer, you have time until evening. You can walk around, look, think.”

“How do you know?” the girl strongly doubts this is the guy’s first visit to the city.

“It’s always like that in towns like these. Tourists are almost the only income. They’d live at the station too if it brought in more money.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Sara yawns, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Are you sleepy?” Sean smiles, recognizing himself upon arrival.

“A little. It’s morning here, but it’s evening for me.”

“Yes, evening, exactly. Well, don’t worry, you’ll find an apartment and get some sleep now.”

“I can’t wait,” but actually, the girl has a completely different desire first and foremost, yet she is too shy to say it, as if she hasn’t left her hometown, where she had to keep most of her thoughts and words to herself.

“We’re here,” the guy parks near the station, just as he predicted, in a completely empty parking lot.

“Thank you for the ride,” Sara thanks him, waiting for something, not knowing what.

“My pleasure. And it was on my way,” Sean’s smile grows increasingly sad.

“How much do I owe you?” Sara takes a cloth wallet out of her backpack.

“What are you doing?!” the guy exclaims indignantly. “I helped you out of goodwill,” he seriously walks around the car. He opens the passenger door and helps her get out.

“Thank you, Monsieur, you’re so gallant,” Sara hides her surprise at the manners of her kind and seemingly simple travel companion.

“The pleasure’s mine, Mademoiselle,” he takes her suitcase from the trunk.

“And gasoline costs money!” Sara insists, wanting to show her gratitude.

“What gasoline? I gave you a ride in exchange for a hint about which city to go to,” the guy cleverly deflects.

“Alright,” the girl smiles, putting the wallet away. “Then, if we meet again, I’ll treat you to coffee.”

“Great! I’m all for it!” Sean openly rejoices. A future meeting is possible.

“Here,” Sara hands him the piece of paper.

“No need!” the guy pulls his hand back, thinking the girl is giving him money.

“Silly!” Sara laughs. “I just decided not to wait until I get back.”

“Interesting,” Sean unfolds the paper. “The most beautiful little bird I’ve ever seen. After you, of course. Did you draw this just now?”

“Yes, while we were driving. Sorry, it’s not that great. The car was shaking, but I tried to draw it as nicely as possible,” the girl says modestly.

“You have talent,” the guy notes, comparing the drawing and the artist.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” the artist waves him off, embarrassed.

“I speak as a true connoisseur of beauty,” Sean seriously insists, tucking the drawing into the left inside pocket of his light jacket.

“I hope we see each other again,” Sara smiles hopefully.

“I hope so too. Are you here for long?” the guy tries to find out as much as possible, so he knows what he can count on.

“All summer, I hope,” it’s simultaneously so hard to keep silent and to say what you’re thinking.

“I hope so too,” all of Sean’s hope shines with a bright flame in his eyes, staring intently into Sara’s. The girl tries to meet his gaze, resisting the bright sun, squinting slightly.

“Here,” Sean takes off his sunglasses and hands them to her.

“But what about you without them?” the girl hesitates to accept the needed and pleasant gift.

“I’ll manage somehow,” Sean smirks, happy that the gift will be useful.

“Thank you,” Sara immediately puts the glasses on. She sighs with relief. The wrinkles around her eyes and on her forehead instantly smooth out.

“Now, off you go. You need to sleep,” he lightly runs his fingertips along her arm from her shoulder to her wrist.

“Okay,” Sara smiles, slowly walking towards the small cluster of locals who have gathered. She desperately wants Sean to wait there and spend time together, but that won’t happen because of the young people’s shyness and indecision...