The hours flew by similarly to the way the scenery changed out the window – quickly yet also seeming endless. The lush green trees in Missouri slipped away as the dirt grew redder in Oklahoma and as we drove through northern Texas, the vast nothingness gave way to a more mountainous New Mexico.
It was the afternoon of day two and the smell of pine trees floated through the windows. The tall rocky formations to our left were a comforting presence as The Moth Radio Hour played in our ears. The specific episode that was playing had a theme of fathers. We sat in silence for an hour as we listened to tales of surprise parties and teenagers and illness – and it was the most perfect thing we could have shared in that moment.
My dad is not a man of many words. But during that hour we were both simply present in the moment, perhaps not even realizing that we were creating our own tale that fit the theme. Ours was of Peruvian restaurants and glasses of wine and high school stories and last minute hotels and sand dunes and hiking down the Grand Canyon together. All of these seemingly simple things, yet interwoven into a trip that I will cherish more and more as time separates me from it.
The hours flew by, and finally we were in Tucson.