Dance Dance Revolution

Cars are going down the road, tires are screeching at the sudden stops, and horns are honking at an out of line pedestrian. It's not driving, it's dancing.

The cars are dancers, rolling along their way. The road is the stage, get too close to the edge and you'll fall off. Careful, don't bump into others or you just might cause every one of them to mess up. The dancers move as a whole, a well orchestrated and planned out routine. They all turn together, stop together. Sometimes they dance solo, sometimes they are in groups.

On the road from my house to my grandparents, there is a whole lot of dancing. About thirteen hours of dancing, to be exact. For hours we'll go, watching the backdrops change from coastal farms to mountain towns to busy northern cities. Every once and awhile we'll go on the highways, but my mother prefers the scenic routes through small towns. Highways are busy things, full of people hurried to get on their way. It's a Spanish dance, quick-paced and full of fire. The scenic routes are calmer, more relaxed. The dancers waltz on these roads, passed the slow mountain turns, looking out to the beautiful valleys. The waltz is my favorite of the car dances.

Sarah yells. She needs a place to stop for the bathroom.

Mom yells back. You just went an hour ago! Can't you hold it?

Emily snores.She's through with sitting around and waiting to get there, so she takes as many naps as she can. Why can't Grandpa and Grandma come visit us? She asks every time she wakes up.

Not me, though. I won't get bored and fall asleep. I won't complain about how long it's taking or start arguments about the last time I used the restroom. Me, I'll just sit here and watch the cars go by.