Feeling Tidal

One

"You can scare bears but you can't scare waves," I said leaning my head against the window, letting each groove in the road jolt my head. "and what are the teenage freakin' lifeguards gonna do?"

My parents, especially my mom who'd fallen asleep two hours ago, stopped listening to me back when I had tried explaining how at least if eaten by a bear, my remains will eventually come out. Waves will just swallow me into the depths of the ocean that nobody will bother to check.
It's not even like they're retiring and moving to the beach to enjoy a relaxing end to their lives, nor was it a decision made in order for me to grow up in a better place.
I loved that the last seventeen years of my life were spent at our cozy home in the woods, where it took forty minutes to the nearest grocery store so we'd always shop at the market where the people working were like family.

I loved it.

My only "sibling" Ace, began sniffing the mess of my hair, which matched his chocolate coat had become as I threw my face onto the pillow in my lap. His wet nose tickled my ear, causing my head to lift up at the worst possible time. My head found its way back to leaning against the window, I exhaustedly groaned as we passed a sign with letters that formed two of my least favorite words.

New York

Had it been upstate New York, maybe it would've been just a sigh, but according to the gps, we'd be driving through the city. Through the visibly polluted air, clusters of people, and trees only grown out of necessity due to low oxygen or something like that.

"Wake me up when we're driving through a place that won't permanently damage my lungs." I aggressively pressed my fingers on the window button to roll up my window, which was only open a crack.

"And can you wake up a tad less dramatic?" my dad asked, his eyes stared back at me in the rear view mirror.

"Probably not," I told him, completely and expectedly honest.

I looked back up, and he still gave me a look. It was a look prompting that I better get my act together. Worried he would turn New York into a day trip.

"No promises."

"At least you're honest." he quietly laughed pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose, turning his attention back to the pedestrian ridden roads. I wondered how often someone inevitably got tapped by the hood of a car, because it was obvious nobody waited for the walk signal.

I gave him a nod with my lips pressed tightly together, pushing in my tangled earbuds and resumed my playlist. I scrolled through the literal thousands of photos I took in the months before we left. There was even a video I took which played out as a house tour, the camera was held at my eye level in hopes I could use it for some virtual reality effect one day.
If only our phones could capture the exact lighting our eyes see, the exact distance we are from whatever it is we want to photograph. If only our photos could capture the feelings we felt in which triggered us to take the photo, if only they could take us back to the exact moment we took it.

Probably six pit stops later to stretch, empty our bladders, and for my parents to switch who's driving, we pulled into the one of many Publix grocery store parking lots. While my mom touched up her lipstick and ran her fingers through her auburn hair I watched the people going in and out of the store. Each stop we made, getting closer and closer to the new house I realized just how different they dressed here.
I would be swapping out my "drug rug" for an aqua teal hoodie with South Carolina printed on the front, because apparently we have to advertise our location. Next I'd unstrap my Birkenstocks for a pair of flip flops. Then maybe id add some blonde highlights for that beachy affect.

"You guys need a cart?" an extremely sunburned looking lady asked, nudging her cart to us and slinging her overpacked purse onto her shoulder. The blonde curls messily plopped on top of her head made her sunburned skin look even redder. Like seriously was there a sunscreen shortage?

Being the sweet lady she is, my mom gratefully accepted the silver squeaky wheeled chart. As we walked in through the equally as squeaky automatic doors she tried proving how great of a place we're at.

"That was nice of her, wasn't it?"

"Maybe," I shrugged. "She was probably too lazy to return it herself."

Brushing it off, her and my dad began walking past the aisles with their heads up high, looking at the signs above each aisle to see where things were. Being their typical granola parent selves, they pushed the cart down an aisle with organic snacks. Dried fruits, mixed nuts, trail mix, and the whole shebang.

"Cashews or pistachios?" my dad smiled an open mouth smile while holding a bag of each in his hands. You would've thought he was asking if I wanted a million, or a billon dollars.

"Almonds." I said taking a bag of them off the shelf, throwing it into the cart, continuing to roam throughout the store. Not even having to look back, I could sense my parents shaking their heads in irritation.