I really hope my father doesn’t kill us.
Now that I have your attention, you’d be interested to know I’m heading to Iowa City to commence second-semester fun. This semester features a playwriting, creative writing, non-fiction writing and classical mythology class, and two of them actually take place outside of the dorm, which means I only have to leave the dorm twice a week. I can hibernate all winter long!
Hooray!
However, I may not make it to second semester because my father (the restless, driver) insists on taking us down a 70 mph road when he’s running on low energy from playing Call of Duty—I mean, working.
The road to Iowa City is long and dreary with many dead fields and run-down farmhouses. It’s nicer in summer and spring, when the fields are green and alive and whatnot, but right now it just looks dead. Don’t get me wrong, I love fields and crops and wide, open spaces, but the trees are bare and the roads are empty, and the sky is gray and dull like the pages of My Life is Average.
In the front seat, my mother quizzes my sister on her lines in the play Sleeping Beauty as my father switches between opening the window, playing the radio and different seating positions. As it stands, I’d rather not be in the car right now because I fear for my safety as well as that of my mother and sister, but (although he occasionally snaps when my mother offers to take the wheel) I trust his judgment. He’s still my dad, and he did a great job with raising me and my sister, right?
I don’t think we’ll die.
Returning to Iowa City feels kind of weird because Iowa City reminds me of those teenage clothing stores, and everything looks pretty and cool, but the quality of the fabric rips and tears easily. It’s like the city was made for college kids by college kids, and even though things look awesome, the quality is a little weird. Maybe it’s because I’m returning from the church capital of the world and you know what to expect around every corner (a church), but I’ve always felt this way about Iowa City. Things are odd and different, and I don’t know if it’s because of my hometown or the environment.
I can’t wait to start the radio again, though. For those who don’t know, Zach and I co-host the KRUI show Fresh Meat (Sun. 12-1pm), which gives musicians and writers the chance to perform/read their work on-air and interview afterward. So far, we’ve tried to work the station about four times, but I’m confident this coming weekend, we’ll have an EPIC premiere. Additionally, I can’t wait to return to music and IT staff because I met Kate Nash through music (she said hi to me) and developed the station’s technology on IT (over break, I straightened pictures!).
My mother attempts to convince my father to let her drive, and my sister repeats the lines of her social studies homework as I type and Doris (my father’s GPS) orders him to turn. I think we’re closer now, and I can’t wait to see the people and things I’ve missed the past four weeks, and I’m confident this semester will rock its predecessor. I mean, I don’t know what’ll happen the next couple months, but it beats hearing:
Father: You have a dull, boring voice.
Mother: I was a thespian!
Father: I’m not turning over.
At least in college, no one has cars. Therefore, no one can criticize their friend’s driving.
We’ve just crossed the Mississippi River, and it looks as icy and gray as the land around it, but I think it’s better than the developments we’ve passed. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s developments. All the houses look the same and you can’t put some things on your lawn, and where’s the originality? Sometimes, I don’t like dorms because they all look identical, and you wonder how your room is different than anyone else’s, but I lucked out with Currier because all the rooms are sort of different. In Currier, a single on the first floor doesn’t resemble a single on the second, and some rooms have sea-foam walls and others have egg-white.
“I’m in charge of the car.” My father takes my sister’s notes.
“We’re pulling over at the next stop,” my mother says.
“No.”
“You’re annoying.”
“No, you’re annoying…Can’t listen to the radio, can’t sing…”
We pulled over at the rest stop and my father said to my mother, “You’re always grumpy when we travel.”
“Can you guess what song is stuck in my head?” My mother faced my sister and I.
“Vacation personality,” we said (a jingle we created for when we travel). My sister and mother broke into song.
My mother guided us to the vending machines and selected a Milky Way for the road. “I’m going to put some stuff in the car.”
My father browsed the vending machine with my sister. Glancing out the window, I saw my mother running toward the car. My sister said, “Can you believe how many vanilla cookies I can get for one dollar?”
“That is a lot of cookies,” I said.
“That’s way too many for one person.” My father watched me retrieve my Three Musketeers from the machine. “You too.”
“Hey, do I put the dollar in this way?” my sister asked. “Or do I put it in this way?”
We left the vending machines, and as we approached the vehicle, my father threw a snowball at my sister and I. He missed, and saw my mother in the driver’s seat. He slid into the car and said, “You can’t drive.”
My mother didn’t care, and neither did I, but my sister gave him some vanilla cookies and my mother praised my efforts during my first college semester, and everything felt better. We talked about high school and middle school and elementary school and indulged in nostalgia, and everyone was kind of happy and things were good.
Some of you probably wonder why I didn’t offer taking the wheel. Well, to put it simply, driving freaks me out. It’s the most dangerous activity I do on a daily basis, and even scarier than high-speed driving with a restless father is high-speed driving with a teenager girl who doesn’t even like to light the Bunsen burner in chemistry. I’m not saying I’m terrified of every semi-dangerous activity—just most of them. I prefer a life of education and beautiful surroundings, like sitting in a library or playing Brain Age by Niagara Falls. Driving about a mile-per-minute on a stretch of tar doesn’t fit the standards of this existence, and I also don’t want to crash, burn and die.
Anyway, that’s about it. I can’t wait to start next semester (as a sophomore!) and I think we’re approaching the city soon, so I should probably save and close. Have an awesome next semester, friends, students and teachers.
