In all my life, I have never seen so many miles burned away in two days. We drove forever, Dad and I, and the stars were only there for a third of it.
I kept looking out the window and only seeing my thoughts out there on the mountains or in the fields. There was me, reacting pleasantly to the genuine, awesome people we were visiting, and there was Dad who protected me. I wished a lot of things could happen when we got back home. I was happier, as one always is after a good trip, and probably a little wiser though I had nothing beautiful to say about the whole thing in any of my 4 notebooks that I drug along in a backpack.
I thought about being happy when we reach home again. Having a girl waiting there would help with this. She would be something like me, but far more interesting. I would write for her and let her read 75% of the things I’ve said about what she makes me feel.
I’m not looking for a fairytale love story.
I just need to be surprised again. Fascinated again. Giddy again.
This thought overcame me.
I turned to Dad to say something about it and paused because he looked so content when me there, the co-pilot in the passenger seat. And suddenly there was nothing to say. My thoughts faded away, and I saw all the stars and scenery again. The road we were on was straight and quiet; it would be that way for a very long time.
Straight and quiet, my Dad content, me fighting off thoughts I don’t want,
the stars not knowing what to do.