by Julie Prince
"Oh my GOD, Peter! Don't tell me you haven't left yet??" I bellowed into my cell phone. I had rushed over to the salon to get a quick manicure before our drive down to Washington, DC. The diva in me demands I get a fresh manicure before I visit somewhere…anywhere. I was finished, and my nails and I had been waiting out in front for what seemed like forever. Waiting for my husband and my son to pick us up so we could hit the road.
"I'm sorry…" said Peter. "Zack and I were on our way out, and I forgot the pillows you told me to bring, so I had to run back upstairs."
"Well, HURRY UP! When I called you, you said you'd be here in fifteen minutes, and it's been over a half hour. Over half an hour I've been standing out here like an idiot!"
"I'm coming! I'm sorry! I'll be right there!…And you know," he said, a little more quietly, “it's only been ten minutes….”
“WHAT??”
“Nothing…nothing….”
Be afraid. Be very afraid. You are about to go on a road trip with me on the first day of … my "monthly," as my grandma used to call it. Or, “my friend,” as my mom did. Though it's never been a friend to me.
Peter and Zack finally rounded the corner in Peter's bright blue Subaru as I impatiently tapped my foot, wishing I wore a watch on my wrist so I could pointedly glare down at it and up at them as they pulled to the curb. "I read twenty-seven pages of my book standing here waiting for the two of you!" I cranked, clambering in the back. “Let's go!”
Minutes later, on the West Side Highway, Peter missed the entrance to the George Washington Bridge. He is, after all, in the habit of passing the entrance by every day on the way to work; these things do happen when you try to break daily routine after the age of fifty. They also happen when you're hounded from behind.
“JE-sus! Put the pedal to the metal, would you?”
“JE-sus! What is the matter with you??”
“JE-sus! Now we have to go all the way down to 125th Street to turn around! We're late before we've even started. Wait! No! I know! We'll go farther down and through the Lincoln Tunnel…yes! That's what we'll do!"
"I think maybe we should just turn around and go back up to the…." Peter ventured.
“NO!” We're going down to the tunnel, it makes much more sense," I insisted. The tunnel it would be. Once through, (“See?” How easy was that?? Things work out well when you listen to me once in a while, don't they??") we were on the Jersey Turnpike and officially on the way to our DC weekend to visit our old friends. Well, my old friends. I go fairly frequently, though only occasionally do I demand that Peter and Zack accompany me. This was one of those times… lucky them.
Since I had straightened everything and everybody out, I decided to relax a little. ("I want some privacy…I want to nap…I want to read my book….I never get a chance to nap or read my book or do anything I want to do…") Surprisingly, no one protested. As I slept the uncomfortable sleep of a tall person crammed into the back seat of a Subaru, I drifted in and out of their testosterone-fueled conversation, "When are the Jets playing on Sunday? How does the XM radio work? What kind of car is that?” Good stuff to sleep through, and to feel superior to while doing so.
Peter stopped an hour along at a Turnpike rest stop. We were running behind anyway, he figured, and no one had eaten. And what better place to enjoy a fine meal than a rest stop, I mean really? You get your choice of all the finest cuisine: cheeseburgers, chili dogs, pepperoni pizza…. or fish 'n' chips, my choice. I was chastised for drizzling vinegar all over my 'chips' before Peter and Zack were able to grab a couple.
"Then eat your own lunch!" I cranked. Ahh, bonding over a meal together.
I fell right back asleep after we filled our gas tank and returned to the Turnpike. No complaint…again.
"So, do we have any candy or not??" I bolted upright an hour or so later, awakened by a sudden, urgent need for chocolate. Zack jumped, startled. Peter took it in his stride. "Yes, there are a couple of candy bars in my backpack, in the outside pocket." he offered.
"No there aren't!" I called back over my shoulder as I leaned over into the hatchback to rummage through his bag.
"Yes, yes, there are," he said calmly.
"No, no, there's nothing in here!"
"Yes, have another look. In the outside pocket…"
"No."
"Yes."
"No! Oh, oh wait…Yes!" Success. I'd found a candy bar. A Hershey Bar with almonds.
But ewww. In a crumpled wrapper all broken up. "Who can eat this, dammit??" I plumped back down into the seat and waved it around for emphasis. "Here!” I threw it at Zack. “You eat it, you'll eat anything!"
"There's another one in there, I think," Peter reminded me, calmly. I plunged back into the hatch and rummaged some more. "Where?? Oh….a Snickers."
Not my favorite. But it would have to do. I tore off the wrapper and took a big bite.
"Could I have a little piece?" Peter asked. I heaved an exasperated sigh, and broke him off a tiny portion. "Wait…” I looked around as I picked out the peanut residue from between two molars. “I missed the Delaware Memorial Bridge? I love the Delaware Memorial Bridge!" Everyone knows that!"
“…Why didn't anybody wake me up for the Delaware Memorial Bridge??”
"…Could you not change lanes so much? It makes me carsick while I'm trying to read."
"…Do we have to listen to that station the entire way down? It really sucks."
Well, I missed the bridge, and I got over it. I also got over having to listen to "deep tracks" of Led Zeppelin on the XM radio the whole way down. And Peter never moved from lane to lane enough to make me actually throw up in the back seat. And, I guess, while I'm at it, I could admit that I was lucky that neither Peter nor Zack simply offed me and left me on the side of the Turnpike.
And, the next day, my cramps having subsided, and fueled by the joy of seeing my friends and the absence of raging hormones, I found the world was sunny again. Sunniest of all, probably, for Peter and Zack.