American Vacanza

fake names for fake maids • siena

We were back on a boring two-lane highway, just like in Nevada. But instead of a dry, dusty, cracked brown landscape surrounding us, it was grass. Which, depending on how attached you were to grass, was somewhere between five to a thousand times worse.

Lots and lots of grass. Brown, yellow and green, mowed or wild- all we could see, aside from the stretch of highway in front of us, was miles and miles and miles of dumb grass. Like, for God's sake. I realized that if we could find a way to power the world on grass, America would all of a sudden be out of debt because of all the grass we have.

And then I started to feel really dumb, because there was probably already some MIT scientist testing out how to do exactly that.

But, barring my highly concentrated hatred for grass, it wasn't easy to say it wasn't beautiful; the sky was infinite and the clouds looked like they were delicately painted by a top-tier artist. But after a while, I got bored of just watching the horizon line. There was nothing new to look at, aside from the changing grass lengths or the rapidly setting sun, and the occasional V-formation of birds.

I could understand why they were trying to fly out of here.

"So, where should we stop?" Ethan yawned, stretching his arms out like a cat. 'I'm getting tired, and it's kinda late."

"I see a blue sign coming up. We can stop there," Madison replied, squinting at the blinding light that was the sunset. It was true; with nothing, not even trees, to obscure the colors, it really was breathtaking.

I gazed out the window at the beautiful colors of the sky, shifting from lilac to coral to the color of Madison's hair.

I knew it was true about stars, that if you got away from a city, to a place with fewer buildings, fewer lights, and fewer people, they were more brilliant.

Was it true with sunsets? Was it true with people?

Different shades streaked across the horizon, putting on a light show with every inch the sun sunk into the trees. It made me want to get out of the car, take a few yoga breaths, and just feel the beauty of nature.

"All right, there's a Best Western a few exits up. We can stop there," Madison sighed, pulling the sun visor down to block the sunset from her vision. I thanked the stars, which were rapidly approaching as the sun went back down, that I'd finally have a chance to get out of this stuffy car and stretch my aching legs.

We were about halfway through Wyoming after about seven hours, and I was ready to turn in for the night. It had occurred to me that I could easily sleep in the back seat-- I could just lean over and conk out-- but I was never the type to be able to sleep in cars. Besides, the seats smelled like mothballs, and the faux velvet of the seats would keep uncomfortably rubbing against my face.

I shut my eyes for a little bit, but the blinding hues of the sky above us prevented me from getting any actual darkness. The car jerked off the highway -- onto the exit ramp, sorry, I should have clarified-- and I could see the sign for the hotel from my spot in the backseat. I'd be able to sleep, finally, in peace.

I had started to drift off, my head on my shoulder, when the sound of a car door clicking open and slamming shut startled me from my half-slumber. "Let's go, dreamer," Madison asserted, chucking my giant suitcase at me and hoping I'd catch it.

I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, opening the door and letting it slam shut behind me. Madison and Ethan were already far ahead of me, walking up to the lobby and entering without me.

"Three rooms," I heard Madison say at the front desk.

"I'm sorry, do you have a reservation?" the woman, whose pin-straight hair and posture gave off a no-nonsense vibe, deadpanned.