Gas Light

“My hand hurts. I’ve been doing this for hours. Can you take it from here?” Meg begged. 

“No, not while I’m driving! I need to concentrate a little on the road. Please Meg, just a little more. We’re so close now.” Jeff pleaded. 

I sat in the backseat, pretending to be asleep, listening to it all. If Jeff knew I was awake he’d want me to help. It was close to midnight and we had gotten lost three times in two hours. My boyfriend Mark was sleeping on my right side. He could sleep through anything, and anywhere. That’s why he didn’t even know about my hand in Jeff’s driving shifts. 

My eyes were burning with the need for sleep, and my hand was also aching from when it was my turn with Jeff. Meg can do it now and stop complaining. I know Jeff liked it better when it was my turn with him, but we’d never tell Meg that. She’d completely lose it. And she’s lost it enough on this trip. Mostly she’s fine, but sometimes the confines of this vehicle get to her. I mean, really get to her. She’s actually holding it together fairly well as we try to find our exit in Texas.

Our foursome had decided a month ago to set out on the trip of a lifetime. We had just graduated from college, and the world was our oyster. We were ready to slurp it down before becoming entrenched in pursuing jobs and “real life”. That would slurp us down in no time for sure. And in different directions.

Meg wanted to be an environmentalist, saving the planet and finding new ways to create energy. She had her sights set on Denver. Maybe San Francisco.

Jeff was going to program computers. He had a scientific brain that never seemed to stop. He had mentioned Washington, D.C. as a potential job location. But his heart often won in battles against his brain, and I had bet Mark $50 he would follow Meg wherever she landed in life.

Mark was going to pursue writing and music in New York. He had all the talent, all the heart, all the ambition to make it there.

And I was going to find a teaching job somewhere. I knew the market was tough in a lot of areas. You had to have connections, and I had zero. I didn’t really want to teach in the city, but I’d tell Mark after the trip. Why ruin it? In any case, we weren’t ready to say goodbye yet. This was the perfect answer. 

Jeff and Meg had set to planning the major stops from the East coast to the West. Mark and I had planned the West back to the East. 

We made it to Chicago in good spirits, saw the sights, ate the pizza, then moved along. We camped in Colorado, made it to the Grand Canyon in a bizarre snowstorm in August, hiked the hoodoos of Bryce, gassed up in Las Vegas, drove the coast of Cali to Big Sur, and stayed with Meg’s Sister in San Diego. I experienced tofu eggs there. Soy eggs? I have no idea. But they were unlike any eggs I’ve ever met in my life. 

Seeing Meg with her sister made me miss mine deeply. I was on the complete opposite coast from my family, the furthest I’d ever been from them. And the West made me feel open and vulnerable. The flat stretches of desert and plains made me feel like someone was creeping up behind me. Like anything could come down from the sky and strike me or sweep me away. Maybe these fears were just how feeling homesick presented itself. But I couldn’t wait to get back to my family and the mountains and trees of the East that were home. 

A week and a half in, and we became so much closer. Sleeping in tight quarters, huddling close in our tent when we camped overnight. One night, we were set up near a river and heard what sounded like wolves outside the tent. Fear drove us away from the tent and into the van that night. Still, camping saved money, of which we had little. If we could sleep in the van or the tent, we’d do it. We tried to eat on a budget too, splurging in the cities and settling for gas station fare most everywhere else. 

Now we were exhausted from traveling, Francine the Big Red Van had broken down more times than we could keep track of, and it was edging close to midnight as we entered Texas. 

“Higher Meg…pay attention to what you’re doing. Come on…” Jeff whispered. He must really think I’m asleep. Good. I could tell he’s getting frustrated with her. 

“How’s this? Better?” she breathed. 

“Yes, baby, that’s it. Right there. Don’t stop, ok?” Jeff encouraged her. He knew she was getting tired. Her grip was slipping, and he just needed her to finish. 

“Is that…?” Meg started to ask, her voice rising with the faintest hint of excitement. 

“Yes, that’s it. Oh, thank God…” Jeff said in relief. I could see the look on his face, even with my eyes closed. 

“Thank you, Meg, I’m good now. I just needed that.” Jeff said as he slowed the van off the exit. 

Finally, we had reached our exit after a long blistering day in the heat. 

Thanks to Meg holding the flashlight, Jeff was able to see the speedometer to gauge his speed on the highway, watch the erratic gas gauge that always stopped at half-full even when it was about empty, and monitor if Francine was about to overheat again. We realized we had about five miles once the engine went from cool to hot before Francine gasped, sputtered, and died on the road. We became experts at cooling her down with jugs of water. 

Why we thought driving cross country in a 1972 van with no working interior lights or air conditioning was a good idea is beyond me. But live and learn. And hold the flashlight steady.