The Squeeze

Recently, my family and I drove up to Buffalo, New York from our house in D.C., a projected eight-hour drive. The purpose of the trip was to spend a week with my grandparents to help them clean out their house before they moved permanently to their second house in Florida. I was extremely excited for this trip, because it meant I would be eating delicious home cooked Korean food that no restaurant could replicate in addition to being able to steal some of my mother’s vintage sweaters from the 80s. Looking back, I can say my family and I definitely “got closer,” but I will never again want to cram 4.5 people into a tow truck.

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We had been on the road for several hours. Dad put on cruise control and was pushing 90mph. Jim Dale’s voice lulled the cabin. Mom began to nod off in the front seat, and even Taso (my dog) finally became used to the subtle rocking of the car. The car had remained, for the majority of the time, silent since we had put in the tape, apart from the occasional grunt from Dad indicating he wanted food or water, or a complaint from my sister, Regan.

As we approached the six-hour mark, our Toyota Land Cruiser, which had served us well on the road the past couple years, failed us (and without warning). What used to be blurs of green forest on the right and cars to the left morphed into thick, impenetrable, billowing clouds of smoke. Dad yelled, vulgar language filling the cabin. We managed to pull off the to the shoulder of the highway. I don’t know how we did it, but we made it. We exited the car promptly, just in case the smoke got into the ventilation system. Whether or not it did, I was already coughing (it must’ve been psychological, I guess). The Land Cruiser’s engine continued to emit grey smog 10 feet in the air. It was as if we had a personal emergency snare that screamed ‘Disaster Here.’

Dad called AAA and the police, however, neither served to be much help because when asked for our location Dad replied with, “Uh…we’ve been on Route 15 for about six hours…we’re headed toward Buffalo…Oh, here you go, we are definitely past the large shrub on the right side of the road, you know the green and brown one?” The conversation continued for several minutes.

Whether it was an hour later or several I couldn’t tell you, but eventually I heard a low rumble of the tow truck coming around the bend. The driver hooked our car up and then opened up his passenger door. There was only room for one. But we had four people and a dog, how was that going to work?

Dad got in next to the driver, and Mom squeezed in next to him. Regan sat on Dad’s lap, while Taso sat on Mom’s. Where did I go? I got the floor. I crumpled up like a used piece of paper and shoved myself under the dashboard among my parent’s feet.

The ride seemed to last an eternity, and it was miserable to say the least. Each time the driver touched the brakes I slammed into the front of the dashboard. I’m pretty sure circulation to my lower half stopped within the first 5 minutes.

Eventually, I felt the truck come to a slow labored stop. I heard the door of the truck open and the driver get out. We had made it. The sign from the Toyota dealership lit up the cabin of the truck. We got out and saw my grandparents waiting for us with their car. They drove us to their house and I was welcomed with the familiar smell of Korean food. It was nearly midnight, but we all sat down for dinner anyways, looking back on the day and laughing about it.

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The rest of the week was enjoyable and relaxing. I ate my body weight in my grandma’s cooking and took home an extra suitcase of vintage clothes and other trinkets that I found digging around in their basement and my mom’s old room. Luckily, our car was fixed before the end of our stay and our ride back was less eventful. Within an hour of being on the road, Jim Dale’s voice was back on the speakers, and in a short eight hours we all arrived home.