He was single first.

Um... what?

-rae

For those who have EVER been carsick

Every family car trip of my childhood:

Brother takes the whole middle set of seats.

Sister wedges herself in the space by the window.

Mom reads John Grisham and eats beef jerky.

Dad grudgingly shares his coke with her.

Oh yeah, and none of them change the radio station for me.

So I chill in the back of the car, content with the fact that I can be preoccupied for hours with just the thoughts in my head (which I later learn can be written down. Huh...)

But then we start driving up the twisty, rocky, vomit-inducing road up the mountain. Did I mention we're going to the cabin? We're always going to the cabin.

My stomach turns, the coke and beef jerky smell becomes absolutely repulsive, I lose the ability to swallow properly, and the AC can't seem to be cranked up high enough because everything but my pinkies rises in temperature.

The pinkies get colder... I don't know why.

So at this point, I decide that I'm going to take this bout of car sickness and make it into as big of a deal as possible so I can make up for the other attention that had been withheld.

Some campus art to keep you going.

Brother tells me to stop whining and tough it out.

Sister suggests that it's all in my head and that I can make myself not be sick.

Mom calls me "Moan-aaaaaa... waaaaah" and offers me some coke.

Dad gets really nervous and gets ready to pull over at any given time.

Oh, but no.

The relief of expelling whatever is having a raspberry chipotle cream cheese fiesta in my stomach is too easy of a way out.

No, I just need one thing. But how can there possibly be NO water left in the car whatsoever?

My bottle is empty... where did it all go--? Oh. That was that Maverik stop an hour ago.

Mom offers me her coke again. (gross)

Brother and sister hide their Sobe. (gross)

Dad keeps asking me when he needs to pull over and let me out. (not necessary)

I lean over and squeeze my head and see something on the floor.

Oh for the love...

Yes, it's what I need, but it's that arrowhead water bottle that has indefinitely taken residence underneath all the car seats from who knows how long ago.

I pick it up. The plastic is all soft from being roughed around so much, there is hair stuck on the place where the label peeled off, and it's about a gulp full of hot water that no doubt has that tangy aftertaste of "natural spring water."

And I have no other choice.

So now, I'm staring cautiously at the water bottle next to me with the promise, "ENHANCED WITH MINERALS FOR A PURE, FRESH TASTE.

This is why water bottles have been and will be denied my trust for my entire life.

-rae