Page 76 of The Fast Lane
“Things have a way of coming back around.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Just means that when someone does bad things, it might take some time, but it comes back to them. You have to be patient. They’ll get what’s coming to them.”
Looking back, I get that he was talking about karma but eight-year-old me understood it differently. I had to be patient and I had to be smarter about how I put a person in their place.
And thus, a legend was born.
I was always careful about who my intended victim was. A person had to earn a spot by doing something particularly egregious. Well, unless your name was Peter Stone, then you were permanently on my radar. While the pranks were fun, and trust me, they were, I had two big rules. One, I never did anything that couldn’t be reversed or easily fixed, and two, I never told anyone outright what I did. I’d learned, long ago, the best course of action was to deny, deny, deny and give others the chance of plausible deniability.
Satisfied I’d used my powers for good this day, I slipped in my ear pods and turned on some music and tried to doze off.
Until the reality of traveling with a kid set in.
First, there were the numerous bathroom breaks. As the only woman, guess who got to spend a lot of time in a public restroom begging a four-year-old wearing a princess tiara and a velvet dress in August to, “Please, please, please just go to the bathroom?”
Spoiler: me.
Second, the persistent demand for snacks. Goldfish crackers. Applesauce pouches. Cheese sticks. Water. And more water. And more water. Which, in hindsight, was probably the reason for the bathroom breaks.
Third, the endless questions.
“Are we there yet?” No, we’ve only been driving for half an hour.
“Can I have a puppy?” Maybe.
“Are you still my boyfriend, Teo?” Sure.
“Are we there yet?” No, we’ve only been driving for forty-five minutes.
“Are you still Auntie Ali’s boyfriend?” Yup.
“Will someone read me a story?” Mack took one for the team.
“I wish I lived in a castle. Do you want to live in a castle?” Put me in the dungeon, as long as it’s soundproof.
“Are we there yet?” No, Hallie. Just no.
And lastly, sometime after crossing into Utah, “I don’t feel so good.”
Which wasn’t exactly a question, but close enough. Like the dummies we all were, we didn’t take her seriously until fifteen minutes later.
“Daddy,” Hallie said in a tiny voice, “my stomach feels wobbly.”
In the few seconds it took for any of us to register what she’d said, Hallie blew the motherload of puke. When it was all over, Hallie was crying, Abe was holding a handful of vomit, and I was yelling at Theo to pull over.
That’s how we found ourselves on the roadside of a desolate patch of I-70 unpacking everything in the backseat to search for a change of clothes for Hallie, a shirt for Abe, and something to mop up the mess with. Our attempt to clean up Hallie involved nine fast-food restaurant napkins, three bottles of water, and two towels all while hovering around her to block her from possible passing cars.
The inside of the car was an even bigger challenge.
“Isn’t it easier to burn the car down and get a new one?” I asked, staring at the carnage.
Theo grunted. “I’m considering it.”
“I’m sorry, man.” Even with the clean shirt, Abe looked like a soldier returning home from a war where he had seen some things. “I had no idea.”
Mack moseyed over, Karen trailing at his feet. “Welcome to fatherhood.”