The decision to go feels like you’re almost there.
Paul didn’t take much convincing. Well, any convincing. That night he was into the wine, ha, and into long speeches about time and place and context - mix tapes, even. Ana saw her chance and jumped.
She was excited, and anxious: To be on the road with him, to visit schools, to see her mom and step-dad in L.A. And hopefully lower the stress by bringing this new boy.
(On the telephone with her mother last night:
- So who is this new boy?
- Somebody who lives in my neighborhood.
- What’s his name?
- Paul.
- Paul? Hmmm...
- What? What’s wrong with that name, Mom?
- Nothing. Where’s he from, originally?
- I don’t know.
- You don’t know?!)
They had worked out the ground rules for the radio last night. Driver’s choice - and the driver changes every two hours. One passenger veto every six hours, and they planned to do twelve hours every day. Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, Ana wondered if they could they get all the way to Chicago today.
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