Dad turned off the engine. He stared at the canyon for a long, long time. Then he looked at me.
— Margot
So we went. The four of us: Dad, Mom, Sam (12, obsessed with pterodactyls), and me, sulking in the passenger seat with a copy of On the Road that I’d only read three pages of.
“Alright, captain. You navigate.”
I didn’t have a compass. I didn’t have a GPS signal. All I had was a sunburn and a stupid sense of direction. But I pointed left, and he turned.
Thanks for reading. Next week: The boy who stole my mixtape in 10th grade.
But Dad looked at the map. Then at the road. Then at the gas gauge. For the first time in his entire life, he said something I didn’t expect.
I learned something out there, I think. Not about maps, or gas, or getting lost. I learned that my father, the great and terrible planner, was just as scared of the unknown as I was. The only difference is, he hid it behind laminated paper.
Dad turned off the engine. He stared at the canyon for a long, long time. Then he looked at me.
— Margot
So we went. The four of us: Dad, Mom, Sam (12, obsessed with pterodactyls), and me, sulking in the passenger seat with a copy of On the Road that I’d only read three pages of.
“Alright, captain. You navigate.”
I didn’t have a compass. I didn’t have a GPS signal. All I had was a sunburn and a stupid sense of direction. But I pointed left, and he turned.
Thanks for reading. Next week: The boy who stole my mixtape in 10th grade.
But Dad looked at the map. Then at the road. Then at the gas gauge. For the first time in his entire life, he said something I didn’t expect.
I learned something out there, I think. Not about maps, or gas, or getting lost. I learned that my father, the great and terrible planner, was just as scared of the unknown as I was. The only difference is, he hid it behind laminated paper.
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