Page 11 of Stops Along the Way
Amelia looks like a college student. Specifically, one in the midst of exam week who’s wearing Audubon College–branded sweats and could use a shower but is overcompensating with a heavy helping of apple-scented lotion. Her honey-blond hair is scrunched up into a knot atop her head, and she’s wearing a starpimple patch beneath her chin. She’s got the keys for the car in the center display, on a floral lanyard with her dorm room fob and a plastic case that holds her student ID for easy access.
“Hi.” I fasten the seat belt and sit back into the seat. “The driver behind you has their signal on for you to get out of this spot.”
The one accessory my sister is wearing that doesn’t exactly scream typical college student is her bioptic telescopic driving glasses. While she doesn’t use typical prescription lenses, the framed glasses—with two circular telescopes positioned above each eye—give her the ability to have a zoomed-in, closer look, which helps with reading street signs and observing traffic lights.
When she first got them, Dad made a joke that she looked like Inspector Gadget, and then we all went quiet because we weren’t sure if she was going to be offended by that, but Amelia laughed and did not care. She was just relieved to have the opportunity to maintain her independence for as long as she can.
Even though I told her we were clear to merge over, Amelia still checks each mirror several times, testing everyone’s, but most especially my stomach’s, patience.
“Do you want me to drive to campus?” I offer.
She moves over into the next lane. “No, I know these roads.” My stomach roars. “Whoa, hungry much?”
“You could hear that?”
“Possibly the loudest sound I’ve ever heard. We can get dinner on campus.”
I let her focus on the road until we’re out of the airport mess and into smooth sailing on the highway. “Hey.” I start thehellos again, because I haven’t seen my sister in person since December.
It’s her turn to say hi.
“That’s all you’ve got?” I tease. “You made me fly all this way and go on a multiday drive back home just to spend some time with you, and all you’ve got ishi?”
“How was your flight?” Then she giggles at the second mundane conversation starter. “Sorry, my brain has been locked in on anthropology for the last seventy-two hours. That exam had no business being that difficult, but it was even worse than I expected.”
“You’ve still got another test tomorrow?”
“Actually, two, but these last ones aren’t tests. One is a group presentation for a communications class, and the other we have to show up to turn in the final paper because the professor refuses to accept online submissions. It’ll be an easier day tomorrow. We can hang. You can help me pack. We’re still on track to hit the road Wednesday and get home late Thursday night.”
She’s forgetting the next step of her itinerary.
“And then you flee the country,” I say, thinking of next week.
“Jealous? You should come visit.”
Her program offers a study abroad course, which sounds like one giant vacation to me, in an I’m-definitely-jealous sort of way. She’ll be at a college in Spain but will be getting to travel to several other European countries as well, which makes sense because everything’s so close together over there. The point is to learn to communicate or something? I don’t really understand what a communications major is, to be honest.
.....
We finally approach her school, and from the road around the perimeter of Audubon College, I get a peek at the campus. The hilly green quad and the old brick buildings. Students who are trudging to an exam in stark contrast to their peers who are walking out to summer freedom. Amelia continues to drive us around the outskirts to a super-faraway parking structure in the back, where she winds through the garage until we finally find empty spaces on the top level.
“They started letting freshmen have cars like a year or two ago,” she explains. “This was the only spot they had to build more parking, which they are definitely overcharging us for, like everything else. I get by well enough with transit or catching rides with friends, so you can keep the car next year.”
“That’s so kind of you.” My voice is laced with sarcasm. “That’s always been the plan, but I’m glad you think it was your decision.”
She scrunches up her nose gleefully. “Just saying it works out for both of us.”
“That’s good. Don’t go changing your mind. Do I get to keep the lanyard too?”
“No. A friend gave me that. You can buy your own.”
She parks the car, and someone quickly takes the empty space beside us. The girl glances over and smiles at Amelia, but Amelia gives a blank look in response. Perhaps not recognizing the person, which doesn’t mean it’s not someone she knows.
“Amelia!” the girl shouts out, waving, probably thinking my sister is spacey or something.
Amelia recognizes her voice and cracks open the door. “Camila! Hey!” She scrambles to take off her driving lenses and put them away.
But Camila notices. “Nice glasses,” she says, in a way that fortunately seems more curious than mean.
