The ultimate freedom to me is getting in my car and going wherever I want. Virginia is 33 hours away? Fuck it, let’s go.

I can stomach the consequences of changing all my plans. I can be in Texas by tonight.

Gas station coffee is so out, by the way. Gas station coffee is so “this is my first road trip.” A gallon of cold coffee is in. Red Bull was never in, don’t buy it, don’t put that in your body.

Que up an audiobook, not the one I need to listen to for class, but the one I have been wanting to read. I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy is not for the faint of heart, but neither is driving into the night with no destination in mind.

Cross the border into New Mexico and head east. Watch for deer. Drive through a whole lotta dark. Colorful mesas and crumbling canyons are all around, but I can’t see and don’t stop, I’m headed for the Mississippi.

3 a.m. is a good time to stop driving. We park in Texass, almost 600 miles away from where we started, next to a lake or pond, maybe a reservoir, I don’t know.

Only four hours until the sun rises and I’ll find out. Since Jaden drove most of the way, he takes Mallow out of the car and they run around while I unroll the ground tarp in sand, blow up the sleeping pads, and lay out our sleeping bags. No tent. We have a tarp but it’s not worth setting up. Not a cloud in the sky.

Big cottonwoods surround us, we are still in the west. The moon is so bright it’s like sleeping with an overhead light on. Connect Mallow’s leash to the car, lay down on top of our sleeping bags, try to fall asleep immediately. It’s 85 degrees without a breeze.

Just as I slip into sleep, Mallow’s leash yanks the Prius, she’s up, she’s running until the leash whips her back. Her ears are pointed up, her eyes narrowed and her tail is straight. Must be an animal nearby. I listen and can hear not footsteps, but the bushes rattling nearby. Probably a deer and not a bear or anything worrisome. I close my eyes again.

The smell didn’t creep in slowly, it smacked like a wall of water rising, rising, rising then crashing on our faces. My eyes flung open. What is that? I plugged my nose and looked at Mallow. She was laying in the sand with her legs outstretched. She looked up at me and shook her head like, nah it’s not me.

The smell of poop was seeping into my pores. Did an animal just take a shit right next to us and leave? Territory marked.

Three hours until sunrise now. Turning on my back, I shoved the sleeve of my sweatshirt up against my nose and closed my eyes. Mouth breathing only, I hoped for sleep.

There are many rules of the road, like never complain about the full moon shining in your eyes. Put a blanket over your face and go to sleep, because the full sun rising in your eyes is worth complaining about.

90 degrees by 7:00 a.m. is some sick joke, but no. This heat wave is real. People are joking that this summer will be the coolest summer of our lives. As in, it’s only going to get hotter. I don’t find that joke particularly funny, but if we don’t laugh about climate change, it becomes too glum.

Cracking my eyes open I see Mallow has moved from her spot next to our heads to the sliver of shade that the Prius is providing. Half her body is under the Prius, leaving enough room for us to drag our whole sleep set up into the shade and collapse for another hour, maybe few minutes, of sleep.

95 degrees by 8:00 a.m. is worth complaining about, but we don’t speak. Grumbles and fucks are muttered as we wake up, drenched in sweat in the full sun now. Too hot to make eggs. Too hot to boil water for coffee. Quickly we stuff our sleeping bags back into a backpack, deflate and roll up the sleeping pads. Need coffee. Shouldn’t have drank all that cold brew last night.

Without words, we unclip Mallow’s leash, turn the key in the ignition, get the air conditioning running, stuff everything in the trunk. Sunglasses on, grimace at the light. Reverse, hope the Prius doesn’t get stuck in the sand. Reverse fast.

Oh wait, the lake! I think, slamming on the brakes once we’re out of the sand and back on pavement. Squinting my eyes, I peer out the window. Nothing but sand, cottonwoods, and tall tick infected grass. Double check the map. Yep, there’s supposed to be a big body of water around us. Not even a puddle.

Damn drought. Damn heat! Damn Texass. Coffee.

I drive back to the highway of semi trucks and you guessed it, more grasslands. Jaden oohs and ahhs at the windmills. He hasn’t driven across the plains before. There’s no cell phone service. I drive until I see a gas station and pull over for coffee.