American Vacanza

we talk about families • madison

"We're officially mid-midwest!" I announced to Siena, who responded with a trademark eye roll. We had to pass through Ohio after this, and then we'd make it to the East Coast. New York was on the East Coast; therefore, we'd be in New York soon.

Or something like that.

In reality, about forty percent of the country was still yet to be covered. But the simple notion that we were somewhat close to New York elated me, so hell, I'd think it all I could.

 In Nevada, the desert was beautiful. In Wyoming, the eerie feeling of it all was haunting, and seeing the stars at night took our breath away. In Utah, we drove up winding mountain roads. Midwestern highways weren't beautiful, or scary, or memorable. They were flat and ugly.

A thin layer of trees surrounded us on the edges of the road, but it wasn't enough; you could still see bits and pieces of a low-income neighborhood, or a fast-food chain, or a mucky river. The only quasi-entertainment one could possibly find on these roads were the billboards which seemed to be shouting, "GOD WILL SMITE YOU" in their red block letters and dripping paint.

If we were extra lucky, we'd see some cows.

"This is boring," Siena complained, with an eye roll that I thought was only possible in cartoons.

I knew she wanted me to say something to make her un-bored, but I chose to agree, which was refreshing for onc. "Ugh. I know, right? Maybe this is just the San Francisco in me talking, but there aren't even any hills. It's boring to drive on."

She gave me a wide-eyed look that made her look like a goldfish. "I know! And what about these tourist traps? They're kinda terrifying. Holy-- Yogi Bear's Campground?"

"I'd advise you to avoid that one unless you want to get stabbed in the middle of the night."

"Well, if we really still have fifty hours of nonstop driving ahead of us, I might as well stay there until I do."

"Hey now." I was kind of offended that after all we'd been through on this trip, Siena still acted like she wasn't enjoying the ride. I mean, sure, driving past firework stores and non-government-sanctioned state parks wasn't great, but over the past few days, I'd fallen in love with the spontaneity and thrill of it all.

"Whatever. Completely crazy. I mean, these people are so desperate for money, it's unbelievable. We should just march in and give them five thousand bucks so they don't have to put on these miserable freak shows."

I was nearly about to lay down the law on rich-girl rule #3: Money goes to charities, not random people on the street, because they might turn out to be racist or sexist or homophobic or something and that's bad for PR and also for the human race as a whole- but she wasn't listening anymore, opting to look at some condo group across the muddy river. It was advertised, on a sign on a wooden stake next to the highway, as a beautiful retreat, but I, personally, wasn't so certain.

I pressed harder on the gas pedal, trying to break the awkward silence that had suddenly cut through the air. The harder I pressed on this tiny pedal, the sooner we would get to New York City.

"So, I wonder how Ethan's doing at his aunt's house," I said, breaking the silence that had fallen over us like a heavy fog.

"He's probably feeling lost without his stash, to be honest," she giggled.

"Nah, he's smart. Well, not street-smart, or book-smart, but... weed-smart. He probably headed to Omaha and found a dealer," I half-joked- if there was one thing Ethan was good at, it was locating the marijuana in every situation.

"I wonder what Aunt Eleanor had to say about that."

Aunt Eleanor. The woman. The myth. The legend. Really, we didn't know much about the lady at whose house we'd ditched my deadbeat boyfriend.