We were headed to the Sheremetyevo airport. This would be the last ride in our dearly beloved 1980 grey Lada. Dirt and dust enveloped the car, the air, and us, but it didn’t matter. Mama and I kept looking over our shoulders. Papa kept his eyes rigidly on the road and his leaden foot on the gas pedal. We tried to calm Chernuska, whose nervous meowing made us more jittery. I opened the rear window and looked at the road that led back home. It was crooked, cracked, and pot-holed, but at that moment it was so dear to me. Dosvedanya.