Scenes From a Road Trip

The day itself dawned bright and cloudless, which was about the only thing that went right. Our rental car had been booked online but Budget Car Rental, in their infinite wisdom, told us when we got there that the credit card and driver's license couldn't be in different names. Never mind that we were both there to vouch for our identities, or that Jamie had already confirmed that this would be okay with whoever was on duty the day before (a woman named Nancy, whom I pictured as a gum-chawing incompetent, filing her nails while giving us erroneous information. "Yeah, sure, that's cool. Wait, what? God, my cuticles are a mess."). No, clearly we were not leaving in that car.

It was also clear that we were not leaving in OUR car.

"What did the mechanic say?"
"You know that look on Pa's face near the end of Old Yeller?"
"...oh."
"Yeah."

Jamie's mother grumped about the rental car place, idly saying that she and her husband have never had a problem. This planted the seed of an idea in our heads, and sent me scrambling to my jewelry box. Thusly, Mr. and Mrs. James Kelly left National Car Rental in a Chevy Malibu.

"This car is pretty pimp."
"It's sort of pimp. It's Mom pimp."
"Clair Huxtable could make this pimp."

We, however, could not. We turned off the 2Pac and settled for Coast 101.1, the last safe harbour for the easy listening adults of the Avalon Peninsula. We listened to Don Henley imploring us to take it easy as we stared out the window, beginning the first leg of the journey.

***

I'd expected a hug from my parents at the very least, their only daughter returning to the nest for a few days after a day's trip. Instead, my mother reached for the puppy, cooing and asking him how his trip was.

"He doesn't speak English."
"Did my puppy have a long day? Did he? Oh, yes he did."
"And you're just going to answer for him, so."

I shudder to imagine how bad this will be with actual grandchildren.

***

It's extremely fortunate that my family loves Jamie. I thought about this on Saturday night, as we all sat around the rec room; parents, aunts and uncles, and the two of us. I watched him laugh easily with my father and crack jokes with my uncles. Before they met him, I had my reservations. What would this technophile city boy do when faced with a bunch of men his exact opposite? These men are protective over the few little girls in the family, not caring about the fact that most of these little girls are in their mid- to late twenties. They have boats and cabins and guns, and I'm fairly sure most of them are convinced that the laws on homicide have a clause saying "but if the guy's an asshole, we'll let it slide".

I needn't have worried. In focusing on the superficial differences, I forgot all about their commonalities. They love beer, good times, and shooting the shit; in the end, just the boys sitting around sharing a case.

I thought about all this as I sipped on my own drink, smiling at my good fortune of falling in love with a boy who blends into my family, my home, so seamlessly.

"So the guy actually went flying off the barstool when you punched him? I'd like to know what happened after that," Jamie said, cracking open another bottle.

***

Home movies got broken out. I cursed once more the presence of a video camera in my sullen teenage years, when all I wore was black and a scowl.

"Look at the face on you. Only a mother could love that."
"Actually..."
"Mom!"

***

Despite the rain and gloom bearing down on an already-bleak road, I loved the drive back. As with nearly all road trips, the most fun is in getting there. We got lost in Grand Falls ("Are we supposed to be seeing boarded up buildings? Is this where we meant to go?"), ate Skittles, and passed the time with 20 Questions.

"Is it living or inanimate?"
"Inanimate."
"Is it bigger than a breadbox?"
"No."
"Is it your iPhone?"
"...yes."

The signs updated our progress in small increments. St. John's - 34. Then 32. Then 25. Then 15. Finally, we took our exit, as Rufus Wainwright sang us up to the first streetlight we'd seen in days.

My legs were rubber as I got out of the car, finally, to see our house all lit up to welcome us back.

"Hello, house! Hello, yard! Hello, convenience store across the street responsible for my weight gain!"
"Hello, mailbox full of bills. Hello, drivers who forget this is a residential street."

For the first time since Friday, I heard sirens and tires screeching. Dorothy Gale couldn't have been happier.