American Vacanza

we're almost there, for real this time • siena

My anxiety grew greater as the seconds ticked on without anyone coming to give us gas. I thought I'd have to actually act on my promise to ring the doorbell of the farmhouse across the road. It was true, I'd come out of my shell a little bit on this trip, but not enough to go ring random strangers' doorbells and ask them for gasoline.

But imagine my surprise when a man came out of the farmhouse himself, carrying a red can of gas. When he reached the car, he pulled down his plaid shirt and said, "I see y'all've been stuck out here for quite a while. Need some help?"

That bright red gas can might have been more valuable than money at this point (or maybe it was just because we had a tiny bit of money to spare), and we both watched, wide-eyed, as he poured it into our tank.

"Thank you so much," Madison gushed. "Here, let me tip you for your--"

"No," he insisted. "We got so much gas we don't know what to do with it. There's a station five miles up. I can't believe y'all broke down here instead of up there."

"No, really. My dad's one of the wealthiest men in the country. He's a co-founder of RAY."

"A who-founder o' what?" he asked. He was definitely born and bred in this rural bubble if he didn't know what one of the world's most well-known technology companies was.

"Never mind. My dad's rich. Just let me give you a little something. Gas is expensive, at least let me give you fifty dollars or something for it," she insisted.

"No. The Lord knows what I did, and that's good enough for me." Before Madison could say anything else, he had walked away, leaving her with a face that said, simply, Oh my God.

"I know, right?" I responded, wiggling my eyebrows. "When you said the people around here were super religious, I thought you meant the evolution-isn't-real type of weird religion."

"That was amazing of him. Just the right thing to do. What he just did for us makes me want to go ahead and do something nice for someone else."

"Well, first of all, let's drive up to that gas station ahead and fill up all the way-- then we can get to whatever philanthropic activities you have planned," I said, pressing the gas pedal down.

"Hold on, hold on! I didn't buckle my seatbelt!" she shouted after suddenly lurching forward and almost hitting the windshield. "You're never going to get your license."

I chuckled in the evilest way possible. "Nope."

"Like, seriously," she continued, once we were traveling at a cool fifty miles an hour, "if you were a serial killer, you wouldn't have to use knives or anything. You could just put your victims in the passenger seat and drive them around for a little bit. That's probably the most sadistic thing I can imagine."

"You should talk to my test administrator person. They'd probably love to hear your opinion on my driving," I say coolly, keeping my eyes on the hill ahead of me.

She put her hands up in surrender, the dimples by her mouth indicating that she'd be milking this joke for a while now. "I'm just saying, it's a good thing you've got a rich stepdad and can afford to take a limo everywhere for the rest of your life."

"I get it," I groaned. A long silence followed, during which I figured Madison was thinking of more jokes.

"Oh! I got one. You go so fast because you're afraid the cops are going to catch you."

"That'd be a whole lot funnier if I had a reason to run from the cops. Like maybe smoking pot with Ethan and that Todd kid at that party?"

Her face turned red. "That was one time! I mean... I don't know what you're talking about. I've turned over a new leaf. Plus, after that night I never smoked again. If the press ever found out the CEO of Ray's daughter went out and got stoned every weekend, we'd never hear the end of it."

"How very integrity of you. Wait, that's not the right word. Integrital? Integritous?" I question, slowing down a little bit as we approach the tiny gas station that farmer dude told us about.

"Be careful not to knock anything over," she instructed while I slowly rolled up to the pump.

She got out and paid for the gas while I walked into the mini-mart to buy some gum, and we were both out at about the same time. "That guy brought a lot of gas, and this car doesn't have a lot of capacity." was Madison's explanation for why it took her such a short time.

I opened the door, ready to get into the front seat and burn some rubber, when Madison stopped me. "I'm driving," she said. "I don't really feel like dying today."

"Well, I'm not complaining," I responded. "I wanted to check my texts anyway."

"I wouldn't even try if I were you," she said. "There haven't been any bars for the last thirty miles. Although, we're coming up on a few little towns here and there, so there might be a little bit of reception; I wouldn't count on it."

"Thank you," I replied, "for that detailed analysis on why I only have one bar."

"Well, whatever. We're almost to New Jersey, anyway, only about twenty miles!" A smile makes its way onto her face, and she lets it stay there. Normally, when she starts to smile, her body shuts it down like a reflex. But right now was just a moment of pure joy for the both of us.

We had to cut through a little corner of New Jersey, and then we'd be in New York City. We were almost done!

"Oh my gosh," I found myself saying, even though I was short of breath. "We're seriously almost there."

"That's right, baby!" she screamed. Her voice rang through the small car and caused a crazy vibration in my ears. "New York Ci-tay, here we come!"

For some reason, the smile stayed. I didn't know if it was the fact that we were almost there or the crazy positive energy in the car or just the sound of birds chirping and feeling of the sun streaming through my window, but my smile wouldn't go away.

I found myself flashing back to the first night at the Paradise Motel in Nevada. The eerie feeling of being alone in my room with its peeling paint that could have been confused with cornflakes, the creepy jail-like coolness that sat around me as I slept, and the dread that when I woke up in the morning, I'd have to spend the day in a cramped ten-by-five-foot space with two of the people I hated most.

Now, I looked forward to every day. Madison seemed normal. We were able to make jokes together, and we even had a few inside jokes. Being friends with Madison was a lot easier than being enemies; we might have fought, but it was a sisterly fight, not the over-the-top HATRED we'd had before.

Now I understood what Madison meant by wanting to burn the memories. I wanted to burn them, too; I wanted to burn everything that had to do with us not liking each other and start again on a fresh slate.

And then we crossed into New Jersey.