Where the Persian flowers grow

Abstract

My Odyssey picked up speed as I pushed down on the accelerator, turning onto the highway. A box slid off of the back seat, and my toiletries spilled out, littering the car floor. Not wanting to stop now, I chose to ignore them and instead picked up my cell phone, thinking I would call my friend who I had missed the chance to say goodbye to the night before. He didn’t pick up, so I turned on the radio as I passed a truck in the right-hand lane. Houses and farms flew past my window in a blur as I drove down I-96, and for a split second I passed a sign facing the opposite direction. It was a new sign that I had never seen before, and I craned my neck to read its letters as the other cars rushed past me. The sign read “Holland” in bold, black letters, and an arrow pointed in the direction I had just come from.