Thirty-seven hours
I randomly read a post about a cross-country road trip and I was vividly reminded of the trip from Vancouver last year with Patrick and Chris.
Getting breakfast at the McEsso on 232nd. Patrick and Chris ate hash browns and egg McMuffins while I contented myself with a wax cup full of orange juice. The inevitable wait at the border; me taking interest in the variety of different license plates. Taking pointless pictures of the Space Needle as it grew closer and closer while we drove down I-5. Detouring into the city as we got stuck in rush hour, buying movies at Target and trying to remember where we parked. Patrick's excitement as we drove through the tunnels when we changed freeways. I knew he felt like a race car driver; I told him he'd enjoy driving standard. Later, listening appropriately to Modest Mouse's Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About in the sunset, stopping to eat at a Subway attached to a truck stop. Passing the lit-up city of Spokane in the quiet darkness of ten p.m. Crunching up against the back window, door handle digging into my side as I tried to get comfortable enough to sleep while trying not to wake up Patrick, with his legs draped over me. Chris's pop-punk blaring from the stereo to keep him awake, his hands drumming the steering wheel and his head bobbing so fast at times I wondered how he could see the road. Taking off my skirt and underwear in the car in favour of a pair of Patrick's boxers while they went into a casino to pee at two in the morning.
Watching the sun rise early over the sad little lumps they call mountains in Montana, everything shadow except the pinks and yellows and oranges of the sky. Escaping from the vast state into an even more hopeless one at seven in the morning, running out of the car in boxers and sandals to throw away the trash from the day before while Patrick bought muffins and juice. The heat we couldn't escape from, even with the air conditioning on full; the sun was everywhere and there was nothing to soak it up but the car and the road and the time moved more slowly the hotter it got. The jolting sound the tires made when we hit the runners that let you know when you're veering off the road because you're falling asleep at the wheel in the heat. The mall with the people in cowboy hats and boots with huge hair and painted faces, and the shoes in the window that I loved and haven't seen since. McDonald's again. The first glimpse of never-ending cornfields and the enormous welcoming white Jesus statue. Stopping in Kearney for books and toys, wishing we didn't have to get back in the car. The dejected annoyance at the detour taking us away, away, when there would have been only an hour to go.
Seeing the vaguely familiar stretch of road after we exited the freeway, with the closed gas station and the inn where we had stayed before. Dragging our feet from the driveway to the house, which was as dark inside as out. Calling my mother and telling her that we had arrived and I missed her already, while Patrick pulled the couch out for Chris. Finally collapsing into Patrick's bed, into clumsy, exhausted sex that we had longed two days for, before immediately falling into the contented, perfect sleep that only a bed can bring.
Getting breakfast at the McEsso on 232nd. Patrick and Chris ate hash browns and egg McMuffins while I contented myself with a wax cup full of orange juice. The inevitable wait at the border; me taking interest in the variety of different license plates. Taking pointless pictures of the Space Needle as it grew closer and closer while we drove down I-5. Detouring into the city as we got stuck in rush hour, buying movies at Target and trying to remember where we parked. Patrick's excitement as we drove through the tunnels when we changed freeways. I knew he felt like a race car driver; I told him he'd enjoy driving standard. Later, listening appropriately to Modest Mouse's Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About in the sunset, stopping to eat at a Subway attached to a truck stop. Passing the lit-up city of Spokane in the quiet darkness of ten p.m. Crunching up against the back window, door handle digging into my side as I tried to get comfortable enough to sleep while trying not to wake up Patrick, with his legs draped over me. Chris's pop-punk blaring from the stereo to keep him awake, his hands drumming the steering wheel and his head bobbing so fast at times I wondered how he could see the road. Taking off my skirt and underwear in the car in favour of a pair of Patrick's boxers while they went into a casino to pee at two in the morning.
Watching the sun rise early over the sad little lumps they call mountains in Montana, everything shadow except the pinks and yellows and oranges of the sky. Escaping from the vast state into an even more hopeless one at seven in the morning, running out of the car in boxers and sandals to throw away the trash from the day before while Patrick bought muffins and juice. The heat we couldn't escape from, even with the air conditioning on full; the sun was everywhere and there was nothing to soak it up but the car and the road and the time moved more slowly the hotter it got. The jolting sound the tires made when we hit the runners that let you know when you're veering off the road because you're falling asleep at the wheel in the heat. The mall with the people in cowboy hats and boots with huge hair and painted faces, and the shoes in the window that I loved and haven't seen since. McDonald's again. The first glimpse of never-ending cornfields and the enormous welcoming white Jesus statue. Stopping in Kearney for books and toys, wishing we didn't have to get back in the car. The dejected annoyance at the detour taking us away, away, when there would have been only an hour to go.
Seeing the vaguely familiar stretch of road after we exited the freeway, with the closed gas station and the inn where we had stayed before. Dragging our feet from the driveway to the house, which was as dark inside as out. Calling my mother and telling her that we had arrived and I missed her already, while Patrick pulled the couch out for Chris. Finally collapsing into Patrick's bed, into clumsy, exhausted sex that we had longed two days for, before immediately falling into the contented, perfect sleep that only a bed can bring.