Andrew Jackson Will Protect You

Part One

6:09 a.m. Day One. Dauphin Island, Alabama. We roll through the sleepy little beach town, heading north from the bottom tip of Alabama. I'm cozy and hidden in the far back, in the top rear bunk of the RoadFinder. Casey's parents are up front, Dad behind the wheel, Mom helping him navigate. They're nearly sixty, much older than most of the parents of our friends. My father's beach house is five houses down from Casey. But he's so busy that I don't think he ever even knew that.

This is gonna be so easy, Casey says, passing me a Pepsi. She climbs up on the bed with her sketchpad. My parents will never have a clue. The back corner is her area, a mini-room that's tucked behind a short wall.

11:00 a.m. Alexander City, ALABAMA. A near-empty box of donuts sits on the little dining room nook of the camper. Casey's mom is driving while her dad dozes in and out. He drove all morning. Casey and I are in the far back, playing Sorry!

"Do you think your dad is missing you by now?" she whispers. I press the plastic bubble dome, snap, and say "sure." After his hour-long argument with his live-in girlfriend, he might miss me. Or after another hour on his laptop, checking his trades. Or whatever they're called.

"What about your mom," she asks. I look out the window at the sign passing. Horseshoe Bend National Monument, 8 miles ahead. "What about her?"

9.13 a.m. Day Two. Chickamauga, GEORGIA. Casey's mom is making sandwiches in the little dining room nook. Casey sits beside her, doodling in her sketchbook. I'm in my little perch in the back, working my way through The Catcher in the Rye. We've just pulled away from Chickamauga National Park, a Civil War battlefield. A huge state sign tells us that Dalton is just forty miles east. Mom is from Dalton, Georgia. She never told me Dalton was the carpet capital of the world. My mother never told me a lot of things.

1:12 p.m. Oak Ridge, TENNESSEE. Casey's parents are all into American history. Apparently there's a nuclear bomb museum in Tennessee, so we've worked our way through the mountains and finally parked. They all went inside so I'm alone. I open the windows in the back of the camper and crack open a Pepsi. I'm actually enjoying myself. There's not a lot whole lot to do; but it sure beats being at Dad's beach house. Or back in Mobile with Mom, watching her run off to her next tennis tournament. Is there an Amber Alert out for me yet? Is that what they call them?

3:34 p.m. Somewhere on the highway. We're rolling across the freeway, green hills and valleys on both sides. People are right when they say that Tennessee is a gorgeous state. Through the back window I look at the stripes shooting away on the asphalt, like yellow lasers. Casey is killing me at Trouble. She moves her game piece way ahead of mine, then laughs when I flip her off. She quickly cranes her head around the mini-wall of the back area and checks on her parents. They're locked into the road ahead. I hear them discuss their upcoming paint job.

Casey presses the bubble with her thumb, and the dice jump up, bounce against the plastic. I look at her with envy. She knows that I'm envious about her family. She tells me that it's not always so great. Her parents fight too. I know that. But her parents are present, I tell her. They don't check out. They are there.

5:40 p.m. The Hermitage, TENNESSEE. We are parked at Andrew Jackson's home, an historical site in Tennessee. It's closed but Casey's parents stand just behind the front gate, taking pictures. It's a massive mansion. There are giant columns on the front of the home. A line of oak trees throws a blanket of shade down onto the house. It's something out of Gone with the Wind, a movie my grandmother could never get enough of.

"Was Jackson president?" I ask Casey, as she steps back inside the camper, bored. "I think so," she says. "A million years ago. Hey. Um. . ."

"What is it?"

"Do you think you ought to call your parents? Just to . . . tell them you're okay?"

I think about this for a moment. "What would Andrew Jackson do?" I ask her. She laughs, and shrugs her shoulders. We open the mini-fridge and look for a snack.

8:00 p.m. McQuady, KENTUCKY. A distant cousin of Casey's dad lives here. "We haven't seen this yahoo in over twenty years," her mom cackles as we pull up to the house. Casey rolls her eyes and gives me the oh boy look. "You'll be okay," she says to me in a low voice. "There's food in the mini-fridge. Hang out. Read your Salinger." She slid off the bed and turns to leave. "Trust me, you'll have more fun than I'm about to have."

When the others are inside, I creep out of the camper. It's a warm, windy night, and I walk down to the end of the driveway. Nighttime in rural Kentucky is thick and dark. We are definitely in the country. There's pine straw everywhere and the crickets are relentless.

Would Dad drive way out of his way to see a distant cousin he hadn't seen in twenty years? Does Dad ever do anything that doesn't directly benefit him?

I tilt my head back and look through the tall pine trees, up to the deep blackness. The glow of Orion is right there, blinking down at me. Could Mom at least try to attend one of my band concerts?

After a little while Casey comes out and tell me they're going to stay for the night. She grabs some clothes and a few things for her parents. "I told my Dad I'd lock the camper up. You gonna be okay?" I nod. "When the chainsaw killer comes looking for me, he'll know where I am." She laughs. I love it when my best friend laughs. "Andrew Jackson will protect you," she says. "And if he can't, he'll tell your parents. He'll tell them how immature you think they are."

I've actually never thought of them in that way.

4:04 p.m. Day Three. Lincoln Presidential Home and Museum, ILLINOIS. The Lincoln home is one of the few things that I really want to see on this trip. While Casey and her parents went inside the museum, I snuck out of the camper and walked to the back. I've read about this spot. It's a small neighborhood, with lampposts and sidewalks and old houses. It's the exact area where Abraham Lincoln and his family once lived.

It's impressive. It's the exact same setup from 1860, a historical plaque tells me, perfectly preserved. I sit on a park bench, and keep an eye out for Casey and her family. The history here is deep and everywhere. I actually like it. When my parents blow up at me maybe I can say but I got to see the Abraham Lincoln neighborhood. Ya'll would have loved it!

But I'm not going to care when they blow up at me. I'm not going to care until they stop taking me for granted. Until they stop making time for me when it's convenient for them. Dad's trading. His dumb girlfriend. Mom's endless tennis matches. Her nights out with her friends. I wonder about the Amber Alert again.