Road trips [5/100]

We’d pile into my parents’ station wagon in the summer and head north from New Jersey to Maine. My mom would prepare rice and pickled vegetable lunches for us to eat in the backseat, or sometimes fan tuan, tightly squeezed rice with seasoning and shredded pork mixed in, conveniently packaged in ziploc baggies so our hands wouldn’t get sticky.

We probably did that roadtrip many times, but they all jumble together in my memory. We would stop in Connecticut, where my aunt and uncle rolled out the red carpet with freshly boiled corn on the cob and big juicy lobsters caught that morning. In Maine, I remember visiting tidal pools, long hikes, petrified forests, and national parks.

But mostly I remember sitting in the car, lulled to sleep by the movement, or impatiently counting the exits until the next state. The middle seat had a section that came down, and you could prop your elbow on it and rest your head on your palm to sleep, but the trouble was if both of us tried to do that. My brother and I would sometimes fight, our arguing getting louder and louder, until my parents knew it was time to stop to get something to eat.