The List

3. clover street

The List

-forget-me-not-

3

clover street

The trip from our old house in Arizona to Santa Barbara, California shouldn’t have taken very long but you’d be amazed by how slow time can seem when you’re travelling from the very east of a state to the west coast and you somehow got roped into sitting with your yipping, chatty step mother.

I had never really been interested in having an iPod or an mp3 but oh, how I wished for one now. I had Emily’s tucked somewhere in my bags but I hadn’t had the foresight of pulling it out. It felt odd to touch it and use it like I owned it. Whenever I listened to it, I always felt as though I was four seconds away from having Em snatch it out of my ears and yell at me for taking her stuff.

Now, I think I would’ve dealt with the uneasiness if only it would block out the sound of Gloria’s voice, which alternated from trying to engage me in a conversation (I responded a few times and we made it halfway through a decent conversation before that got shot to hell) and answering her cell phone, which rang consistently throughout the trip.

Gloria and Dad had decided to save money and drive the moving trucks themselves. A pair of their friends would drive the cars behind us so we didn’t have to go back and get them later. Sighing, I eyed the cars in the side view mirrors, envious.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Gloria said, cheerfully to the person on the other end of her cell phone. “Isn’t it great? I’ll be working with some of the marine life there, you know? It’s a wonderful opportunity. Yes. Yes. Oh David will be working at his new firm; they saw how talented he was and offered him the job. An architect, remember?”

“Oh brother.” I moaned quietly, slouching in my seat and pressing my sock covered feet up against the dashboard. Gloria didn’t miss a beat in slapping them back down, casting me a dirty look and going back to her phone call.

I pressed a button on the GPS and a calm, sterile voice informed that there was “Six. Hours. And. Twenty. Nine. Minutes. Remaining until you reach your destination.” I felt as though GPS Jane was taunting me with her cool tone and glared at the bright, cheerful blue gadget that was perched near the air conditioner.

Gloria couldn’t go anywhere without her GPS. She couldn’t get in her car without it- she literally had a panic attack. I didn’t even try to question her peculiar- and frankly, unhealthy- attachment to the technology but I did have to question why in God’s name it had the most irritating voice in the world.

“Still,” I talked to myself, watching the highway whizz past. “It’s better than the 10 hours I got last time I pressed the stupid thing.” I watched the white lines fly by under the tyres. Line after line after line-

“Did you say something Rose, honey?” Gloria asked, pressing the phone against her neck. I blinked at her, trying to understand what she said in my haze of fatigue and boredom.

“Nothing.” I told her, forcing a smile as I leant my head back against the chair. The truck didn’t even have backseats for me to nap my way through the trip and all my books had been packed. I couldn’t listen to Gloria’s choice of radio stations. I might have had to stab my eardrums out with the plastic straw I got from our last pit stop at a gas station in Phoenix.

An hour ago, a slushy had sounded really good but my stomach was waging mutiny as a result. As Gloria went on and on about how special my Dad was and how wonderful her new job was going to be and how much she would miss her friend, I curled up against the door and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the nausea to pass.