We the Cheese

2: We barfed, on the side of the road.

God, I was wrong.

That had to have been the worst road trip I have ever been on.

It was bad.

Sure, we'd had a 'family moment' a guess you could say, but after that, it was all downhill.

It was going fine until we stopped for dinner. And the blame kinda falls on me because I had been the one driving, but the others said they didn't care where we ate.

They should've cared.

So, I'm putting they blame on them because they were careless, and I don't want the blame on me.

After they pulled an 'idc' I just pulled into some family restaurant, I mean I didn't care where we ate either. But, wow, the family that owns that restaurant might know how to make something taste good, but they surely don't know how to make food that agrees with my stomach.

Or any stomach for that matter.

So we were seated and served. The food looked good, smelled good, and tasted good. We thought we had found the perfect place. Until about thirty minutes after eating from that so called 'perfect place'.

"Luke pull over, I feel sick," I moaned trying not to barf everywhere.

"You do too?" Mom said, sounding equally as miserable.

"Buch of sick people," My unsympathetic brother mumbled, pulling over into the grass lining the highway.

I flung open the car door, practically leaping out it, then proceeded to puke.

Thank goodness it didn't get on my shoes.

Cars drove past us, no doubt laughing at my wonderful situation. Vomit fell from my mouth, coming up at a fast rate. Over my own heaving I heard my mother also throwing up beside me. Apparently she'd also leaped from the car except as I got a quick break from puking, I realized she hadn't been as lucky not getting puke on her tennis shoes.

That was going to smell up the car.

My barf was a strange color, most of the time my puke was a reddish color with the always present chunks of regurgitated food. But unlike my previous vomit, my current vomit was kinda yellowish-brown. With the always present chunks of regurgitated food of course. Probably the pasta I ate.

My nose began to burn, causing my eyes to water as puke dripped out of my nostrils.

That's a first.

"It's coming out of my fucking nose!" I screeched.

Mom heaved, then barfed again. "Language!" She managed.

"Fuck," She said as puke came out of her nose too.

Conversation is hard to manage while throwing up, so as vomit shot up our throats and out our mouths we became quiet once more, minus the barfing noises.

Luke appeared to my right. Bended over, dry heaved a few times, then puked.

I don't know if the food got him too, or if the sight and sound of Mom and I throwing up gave him the urge as well.

We stood there, on the side of the rode, as a family, puking.

Making this one of the worst road trips I'd ever been on.

If this was not family bonding then I don't know what is.

Barf, breathe, heave, repeat.

Barf, breathe, heave, repeat.

Barf, breathe, heave, repeat.

I chanted my little chant in my mind, trying -and failing- to distract myself from my current predicament. My nose burned from the vomit containing stomach acid that was still shooting out of my nostrils. My throat burned for the same reasons. And my stomach hurt from whatever stomachs do during the process of vomiting.