Florida, Interrupted

It just figures. As soon as we get on the road headed south, there's a big mess on the freeway. A couple of tractor trailers managed to jackknife on the highway, causing a huge crash and blocking off traffic on the only route out of this frozen wasteland of a city. Awesome. Great work, truckers. How does someone jackknife a semi, anyway? What, exactly, does it take to qualify as "jackknifing"?

I ask Dr. Google, and he informs me that many accidents such as this one occur because of improper brake maintenance or adjustment. To "jackknife" a truck means that the cab has skidded in one direction whilst the trailer has headed in the opposite direction. Indeed, many of these types of crashes involve trucks flipping over completely, due to being entirely out of control. Thanks, doc.

"All I ever wanted in this world was a nice vacation," Anna groans, looking down from the overpass McDonald's at the traffic that's backed up for miles.

"And I was the idiot who thought he was gonna give it to you," I grumble in frustrated solidarity.

"It's not your fault," she replies, and kisses me on the cheek.

"No, but I did try to suggest an earlier departure time," I remind her.

"You know I can't miss my stories." She leans her head on my shoulder, still pondering the frosty mess on the freeway.

"This is a story," I say, gesturing with my left arm.

"Some story. We started down to Florida, and five minutes into the drive we had to pull off at a rest stop because the highway's closed on the Dan Ryan all the way down to Champaign."

"The Dan Ryan doesn't go to Champaign," I point out.

"You know what I mean," she says, raising her head so she can punch my shoulder.

"Anyway," I say, rubbing my shoulder where she's socked me, "point is that this vacation is ruined."

"Hang on, I got an idea. Wait here." She pulls away, makes a little square with her fingers like she's taking my picture through an old-timey camera, and then scurries off.

Where the hell is she going to go? There's nowhere TO go, unless you count the McDonald's, where the line's backed up about as far as the expressway, full of angry drivers who think some special sauce is gonna cure what ails them. I don't even want to think about the line-up at the restrooms.

I puff out my breath on the window and it leaves a fog against the cold glass. I idly draw a heart with the initials "JQ + AV" in it, then scrawl "4EVA" underneath. What am I, twelve? I know, it's cheesy, right? But I can't help myself. Anna's the whole reason we're on this trip. Me, I'm content to stay here in the frozen city, eking out a living doing whatever odd jobs I can find. But she wants more. Tropical island vacation more. Florida's about as close as we could get, on our budget, especially since being able to drive there is the key to keeping costs down. It's a 20-hour drive, one-way, but it'll all be worth it to see her smile. Preferably in one of those itsy-bitsy teeny-weenie bikinis she's got stuffed in her bag.

Sun, sand, sex. That's why people go to Florida, right? Maybe a couple of tropical beverages on the beach? Maybe a theme park, if they can swing it? We can't afford any magical mice, but a couple of mojitos are definitely on the menu.

I pass my sleeve over the heart with our initials so I can clear the fog.

Anna returns, walking with something hidden behind her back.

"That better not be from the golden arches,” I warn.

She just giggles. "Close your eyes."

"I'm not opening my mouth."

"Close 'em!"

I close my eyes. I feel her take my hand and put something soft and furry into it. “What the…?”

Opening my eyes, I see a pint-sized purple llama.

Before I can ask, she shouts: “It’s a loot llama! I won him in the grabber machine!”

I raise an eyebrow, confused.

“He’s good luck. Or, anyway, he’s supposed to bring you loot. Cash money. Gold ducats. Cheddar. Clams. Cold hard cash. Get it?”

I laugh. “Not entirely, but I like your enthusiasm, kid.” I kiss her on the forehead. “Thanks.”

“Do you think we’ll get out of here tonight?” she asks, snuggling back against my shoulder and looking out at the line of backed up cars. The sun is sinking lower in the sky, giving the scene a strangely beautiful glow.

“Ain’t nobody getting outta here tonight,” an older man in a MAGA hat proclaims. He takes a long sip from a tallboy of Budweiser after prognosticating.

“How do you know?” Anna asks him.

“Radio says there’s six more inches of snow on the way. Even if they clear out them semis, ain’t nobody gonna be able to plow with all these cars parked on the road.”

“Dammit.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Anna says, patting the purple llama.

“Maybe,” I say, hoping for the best, but assuming the worst.

“Not a chance in hell,” MAGA-hat says. “So much for global warming.”

“That’s… not how global warming works,” I mutter under my breath.

“Thanks for the info,” Anna says, leading me away from the window.

“What, you didn’t want me to get into a fistfight with a climate change denier?” I joke.

She just gives me a look, as we plunk down in a tiny booth built for two. I place the llama on the table next to the plastic salt and pepper shakers.

“So what’s the plan?” she asks me.

“I don’t think there IS a plan,” I say. “Basically, we’re stuck here until further notice. That could be two hours or two days, for all we know.”

We both sigh in defeat.

“We’ll get to Florida eventually, babe, I swear.”

She smiles weakly, but I can see the tears shining in her eyes.

“Come on. Let’s go take a nap in the car. Everything will feel better after we get some rest, right?”

“Won’t we freeze to death out there?”

“I’ve got a full tank of gas and a Spotify playlist long enough to take us to Jupiter.”

“There’d better be some Prince on that playlist,” she says with a suggestive grin.

We retire to the backseat of my beat-up Honda, crank “Darling Nikki,” fog up the windows, and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

After what could be several hours or several days we wake up to a raging storm of cars honking, all in different patterns and at slightly different tones – a symphony of cacophony. At first it sounds like a thousand angry New Yorkers are trying to urge an elderly woman to get the hell out of the crosswalk, but after I rub the sleep from my eyes, I realize this is actually happy sound. A VERY happy sound, indeed.

To my left, the highway is backed up with honking cars.

To my right, the highway is utterly clear and pristine, for perhaps the first time in decades.

Back on the left, the cars that are honking are attempting to wake up all the drivers sleeping in the cars parked at what is now the front of the line to continue forward on the empty highway. One by one, drivers are waking up to the sound of car horns blaring, blearily turning their cars back on, and driving off slowly, as if they might still be dreaming.

The llama worked!

Anna and I grab our lucky charm from the dashboard, each give him a kiss, give one another a quick kiss, and then race to see who can get all their clothes back on first.

Florida – warm, exotic Florida, completely devoid of snow – awaits.