Little white crosses. It was why I left and why I came back. On the drive to our parents -my parents- I counted 45 crosses. I imagined each one was the site of a horrific motorcycle accident, just like my brother's. Except his had been so thoroughly drowned in bouquets it looked like the adornment of a casket ready to be lowered into the ground. It had been hard enough packing out with the family I hadn't seen in years to erect the thing. Now I drove past it alone.

      As hard as I tried not to look, my eyes locked onto it as soon as it appeared around the bend. Distracted, it was only the rumble strip that warned me of my own impending cross and I spend up to put my brother in the distance. Aren's cross made 62. I was barely an hour out of town and two days into my trip. I couldn't believe how dangerous this highway was.

      When Aren dropped out of school to become a mechanic he was suddenly possessed by the urge to buy a motorcycle. My parents didn't care, they were just glad he was making something of himself. I, on the other hand, insisted for years the bike would be a death trap. Whenever he drove with me in the car, I made a show of pointing out those highway crosses. My hope that these would dissuade him was dashed every time, Aren assured me he'd be more careful than those idiots. The day he finally brought home the Yamaha, I left for good. I was still in town for a year, attempting to keep contact, but every guilt trip widened the gap in our relationships. When I moved towns, I went no contact for my own sanity.

      80 crosses.

      I turned up my music, hoping to drown out the memory of my baby brother's memorial photo. But I had no chance. I couldn't help but update my tally every single cross I passed. To my dismay, clusters of two or three began to appear in blind spots. My eyes were blurring with emotion and I knew I had to take a break. I grabbed my phone to navigate to a rest stop but the GPS had stopped updating. No signal. Ok, no problem, I'd just find the next exit sign. But all that greeted me were intermittent green rectangles declaring "TOWN NAME ____ MILES". Wholy unhelpful. I just had to keep driving.

      114 crosses.

      This was getting absurd. If I'd had signal I would have called 311 to get an answer. Instead, I turned my anxiety toward the few other drivers on the road. The handful of faces I got a clear look at were focused ahead, not seeing my panicked stare. I supposed they were used to the death on display every time they had to go to work or the store. In this moment, I envied their callousness. All I wanted was my girlfriend in my ear to tell me I wasn't a massive pussy and validate my feelings. Instead, I switched on the radio to be soothed by the familiar tones of shock jocks and anchormen. No luck, every station was static, the auto search circled the stations around and around. I was in a dead zone.

      Frustrated, I picked up my phone to switch back to my music but the screen stayed black. It was plugged in and no amount of button smashing would wake it. "You fucker!" I yelled into the quiet car, yanking the inert device free of its tether and throwing it against the steering wheel so hard it bounced off into the back seat.

      191 crosses.

      The compulsion to count was all I had left. After a few minutes of only having the road to focus on, I realized I was completely alone. The clock was still working and declared it to be 11:44 AM. It shouldn't be possible at lunch time, but it was just me and the crosses. They were placed so regularly now that the highway was lined on either side by picket fences stretching into infinity. My brain buzzed, I just had to keep driving because the road couldn't go on forever. But I'd stopped counting. I couldn't breath, recycled plastic air was choking.

      If I couldn't count, I couldn't make progress. I wouldn't have an awful story to share with Izzy when I got home if I couldn't count. My fingers ached from clenching the wheel as I attempted to drive straight. A quiet thump, thump, thump, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP from the passenger side became a booming drum beat. A heart beat. My hands, my arms, my feet, my eyes all ached and I was slipping. The car began an unstoppable wobble and I all I wanted was home.