It was an arctic Michigan night. We’d snuck into the state park, climbing over locked fences and hoisting our toboggans over our heads. Our parents thought we were at the local greasy spoon eating cheese fries.
The six or seven of us floundered through piles of snow through the trees to where the wooden toboggan runs stood tall in the moonlight. We climbed up to the top of the towers and began flying down the tracks.
Then I turned around. Jess was lighting a fire. To a bundle of fireworks. On a wooden structure. Underneath a grove of bone-dry pines.
“THIS IS FUN!” yelled Jess.
Jess has been proposing grand schemes and I have been cautiously vetoing them since she was 9 and I was 10. This MO has carried us through high school, our shared college dormroom, downtown LA, downtown DC and now … Europe.
“You’re going to Italy?” my dad asked eagerly. (I get my traveling bug from him). “Are you going with a tour group?”
“No,” I said. “Jess and I are going just for the fun of it.”
A long pause. “Is that … wise?” Dad queried. It’s possible he was thinking of the time a 14-year-old Jess, practicing in our shooting range, whirled around with a .12-gauge shotgun pointed straight at him and screamed through her earplugs, “Did you ask me something, Mr. Hughes?!!?”
Jess’s parents apparently whispered, “Thank you, God,” when she told them I was her travel buddy. Our high school days were littered with times that Jess got to go somewhere because I chaperoned her was going, too.
In many ways, Jess and I aren’t the same people we were back when we threw mudclots at our little brothers. Adventure is in my blood. She’s the only person keeping patients alive during surgery. But fundamentally, we are the same as we were back then.
“I’m bringing my classy red leather satchel with the strong zipper to carry when we’re traveling,” I told her as we discussed our schedule.
“I’m going to bring my fringed hippie purse,” she enthused. “The rainbow side satchel with the peace sign on it. I’m going to safety pin it shut.”
I guess the silver lining in this is that pickpockets won’t even see me when she’s around. Perhaps I can also get her a hat with a neon arrow and flashing lights screaming, “AMERICAN TOURIST.”
It’s been a while since I’ve blogged, and what better time to resurrect it than before a trip Jess and I always said we’d always take when we were high school. No one wants to read a travel blog full of “today we went to the Sistine Chapel,” “tomorrow we shall explore the Colosseum.”
But The Adventures of Mariann and Jess, Europe Edition?
That shit’s pure literary gold.
Stay tuned!