American Vacanza

but who's driving the car • siena

Arriving in New York was the most beautiful sugar high I'd ever experienced. I'd never thought pulling a crusty old car up to an airport  would ever bring me so much joy as it did.

When she parked the car, Madison looked at me. Her brown eyes were glittering like copper in the sun, even in the darkness of the parking garage. "We did it," she breathily announced, tossing the keys into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut. She looked like she was about to cry of happiness. I'd never seen her show much emotion, ever. This was a new sight for me.

This was the last time we'd see our old, red, beat-up Ford Taurus. "Hold on," I said, choking back a tear or two, "I want to take a picture of it."

"Take your time, take your time," she said with a sad laugh. "If you want, I can get a pic of you posing on the hood of it for Instagram. You know, casually. As one does."

"I'm good. We'll have plenty of 'grammable moments in Italy, anyways," I laugh. "But man, I'm gonna miss this thing. Do you think- do you think I could keep a piece of-"

"No," Madison said, clutching my arm. "It was fun, but we have our memories. Plus, the keys are in the car, so I don't know how we'd get into it."

"Right. Right. Well, then, let's get in there!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms in the air and running for the elevator.

Madison was still by the car, cracking a condescending smile. "Forgetting something?"

"Oh," I replied as she handed me my suitcase, "right."

We hopped in the elevator. The amount of tension was almost unbearable, with both of us exploding with bittersweet emotion trapped in a small box together. It was almost like a contest: who would break first?

"This is such a weird feeling, being done with it," I mused, staring straight ahead at the elevator doors. "I didn't think we'd ever get this far."

Madison stared straight ahead as well. If we made eye contact, we'd break down crying. "I know. I was just thinking about that," she deadpanned.

It was one of those weird elevators that closed on one side and opened on the other, so I couldn't help laughing when the doors opened and Madison stumbled back. I earned a slap on the back of the head, but it was nonetheless hilarious.

"You're a jerk," she laughingly muttered once she had picked up her army-style bag. "Now we have to get to the private entrance, which is all the way on the other end of the airport."

Like I said, the absolute worst time to be hit with fatigue. Security was a nightmare; I could barely see the places on my Converse after taking my shoes off.   

"Hey, do you think we could get some of those--" I pointed to the electric scooters that were supposed to be for handicapped and elderly people-- "and take them to the other end of the airport?"

I was joking, of course, but after a few moments of pondering, Madison shrugged her shoulders and replied, "Why the hell not?"

The joking grin on her face morphed into one of seriousness as we both raced for the carts. "There are like, a hundred here," I reasoned. "And it's not like we're going to take them out of the airport."

"Besides," she replied, hopping into the seat, "it's ten o'clock. I don't think there are going to be many people in this airport, anyway."

"Point." I lifted my finger and pressed the handlebar, revving the scooter forward at a whopping five miles an hour. "That was underwhelming," I muttered, fiddling around with all its buttons and wondering if it could go any faster."

"It's better than walking," Madison laughed. She leaned back and put her hands behind her head, opting to steer the thing with her feet instead.

"Another good point. D'you want to stop for food or keep walking--er, scooting? I asked. Hungry as I was, there was usually food on the plane.

"No. Mom and Dad usually bring the food. Let's stop and get a cinnamon roll!" she yelled.

Cinnamon rolls at ten P.M. seemed like something that would have really bothered me before, but I didn't really mind it now. Suddenly, I was aware of how much I, not just our bond, had changed during this trip.

It was almost like I'd been worn in, like a mattress or a new pair of jeans. I was made to be tight. Everything had to be perfect, everything had to be the same. But when I was constantly tested by things that were in no way perfect, I just had to learn to suck it up and come out of my shell.

I got off my scooter and got in line for a Cinnabon when Madison, using her condescending eyes, said, "Dont get off your scooter! Stay on it."

There weren't many people in the airport, and we didn't really know anyone in New York anyway, so it wasn't like anyone was going to judge us for riding our little private scooters around the place. Madison got up and ordered two buns for us; when we had them in our hands, we were finally able to make it to private gate G17.

"Moe?" I asked, seeing a thick-haired man standing around the gate, reading a newspaper.

"Hi," he said, looking up from his paper. "Madison?"

"I'm her stepsister, Siena," I said. I pointed to Madison, who was joyriding her scooter around the gate. "That's Madison."

"Well, perfect. I was just going to call you and tell you that the plane was ready. I told you four hours, but I like to underpromise and overdeliver."

"About that," I told him. "So we had to drive here from San Francisco as kind of a crazy trust exercise, and our parents bought an old car just for it. We have no use for it anyways, especially since it's 3000 miles away from home. And you've been so good to us.... would you want it?"

I could hear Madison gasping behind me. This wasn't what our parents wanted. But at the same time, it felt so right. This guy was doing so much for us, and just like that kind man bringing us gas, I wanted to do a random act of kindness.

His jaw went slack. "How did you know that I was into cars?"

"I didn't. And, I should warn you, It's not in the best shape. It's a 198-something Ford Taurus, and the insides are a little torn up-"

"Even better!" he clapped his hands together. "A project. I love restoring cars."

"Great! Well, the keys are inside it, which might be a little dangerous. But my parents said that the pink slip and all the ownership stuff was in the car."

"Perfect. Well, come on outside and hop on in; you must be tired!" Moe was awfully cheery.

I followed him out the door with Madison trailing behind me, cinnamon roll in hand. It took my last remaining iota of energy to  walk up the plane's stairs--thank goodness the airport crew had taken our bags and stored them.

I breathed in the familiar air of the plane's homey interior when we stepped inside. No, our private jet didn't have a hot tub, a fridge and all that like you were probably thinking; seriously? A hot tub in a plane? Someone explain to me how that would work.

However, it did have the squishiest, most comfortable leather chairs and carpeting soft enough to sleep on. Most importantly, it was a place to finally relax and sleep, and I did just that before we even took off.