My cousin had arrived, loaded with caffeine and excitement for the sunny side California. On an early June morning a truck, loaded with clothes, sports equipment, a couch (I have no idea why he was bringing a couch) a guitar, a drumset and a mandolin, pulled up to my apartment building. One side had bribed by the other, the system was corrupt and I had to chance of appeal.
No matter how much I whined and how many tantrums I threw there was no changing my fate. So they offered to give him gas money if he took me. He was moving to California for a couple of years and wanted to take his worldly possessions with him in a truck across the country, very convenient, my parents thought. So did my cousin, since he was the one I would be hitching a ride with. I thought at the time that it was a horrible idea. Once upon a time, when I was thirteen, my family decided that it would be a healthy thing if I went on a road trip to a summer camp halfway across the country.
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