The rhythmic pattern of tires on pavement was a soothing sound in the darkness. Tick-a-ta, tick-a-ta, tick-a-ta. There was music in that sound, my own personal summer lullaby. I pulled the blanket and my knees closer to my chin, curling up on the long maroon backseat of the van. Amanda lay at my feet, her tiny prostrate body out for the count. The only sign of life was the sucking noises of little fingers in her mouth. We were surrounded by coolers and board games and suitcases. Mom and Dad were up front talking pleasantly in hushed voices about something parental. For all intents and purposes, I was alone in the back with my lullaby. This is vacation, I thought, and it is perfect.
Tick-a-ta, tick-a-ta, tick-a-ta.
Slowly, I drew the shade covering the large van window and peered out onto the road. Highway lights zoomed past. Other cars drove with us, but scattered and few. Were we in Indiana or Kentucky? Was it 1:00 or 4:00 in the morning? I didn't know, but I also didn't care. This was the moment I waited for every summer. I knew it should have been the actual getting to North Carolina and seeing family, but the truth of it was I would have taken a road trip to nowhere if it meant highway lights and clackity melodies.
When the sun rose tomorrow I would play Barbies with Amanda, read books on end, and drink apple juice from tiny little cans. We would all sing to the Lion King, drive through the "Twizzler" mountains in West Virginia, and I would inevitably get carsick. Finally, we would reach familiar territory in Grandma's neighborhood where the trees bent to meet us, fireflies lit up the night, and dinner mints in candy dishes were the coolest. Southern drawls and Southern cooking would surround us like home, but for now, none of it mattered.
Because I was here drifting asleep to my favorite song.
Because this was the only vacation I needed.
Tick-a-ta, tick-a-ta, tick-a-ta.
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