Letting it Go

We have survived another November, thank god. It ended in rain, which is a good thing - 'At least it's not snow' is the motto that kept me going these last few weeks.

It's times like these when I think about a faraway ex of mine. I remember the huge cube van we used to drive during college (ohhh, the bad things we did to that thing). It was raining one day, and while leaving the campus, I stepped on the gas a little too hard. The van's tired squealed but we didn't get very far. Usually, this wouldn't even be an issue. But I had a particularly bad, bad day.
Everything went red for an instant as I leaned into the wheel and tried to keep from screaming. I wasn't brought up to voice out frustrations. My mother, ever the hypersensitive woman, couldn't stand loud noises.
He reached over and put his hand on my back. "Let it out," he yelled, to show me how, I suppose, "give it a go." So I did. Right in the middle of the intersection, I had my first ever real screaming freak-out.
His lack of reaction made me feel normal, no matter who was honking at us by that time. I was totally fine afterward, and had the loveliest conversation for the rest of the drive while I took short drags of his freshly-rolled joint.

Now the Screamfreak is my secret weapon (only to be used as a last resort, of course, I'm not actually crazy). He wasn't too good to me, in the end, but I'll always be thankful for his therapeutic help in tough situations.