I Don’t Have Red Shoes

It’s been ages since I’ve seen The Wizard of Oz and I remember having mixed feelings about it when I was growing up. One year, I was Dorothy for Halloween. I had sparkly red shoes then. The next year, I was the Wicked Witch of the West and bawled while my parents applied the green makeup to my face. I don’t remember if I wanted to be her that year or not, I just remember being upset about it later. So where exactly is this “no place like home” that I’m heading for and why would I travel to such obnoxiously flat country?

I could say it’s the classic desire to go the distance, to achieve the pinnacle of American youth from a few decades ago, to journey on nothing but will and desire across the continent. It’s nothing so aspiring, though I have been wanting to go on a road trip by myself or with friends for a very long time. This trip, it’s just me, and that’s a little intimidating. I’m not so worried about disaster striking as I am that I’ll just keep to schedule and whip right through three states without pausing for a decent breath. And while I don’t mind talking to myself in a car ride, or yelling at other drivers, it would be nice to have some one tag along. One of my fellow MAT grads is getting married at the end of the month, and since I’m basically the only one without job expectations, I’m one of the few who have the time to attend. I’m also hoping, really hoping, that I can get together with some of my friends I met while studying abroad in Wales in 2007. They’re a great group, and I haven’t seen anyone in about 3 years because I live in Texas and they all live in Iowa. Boo.

And there’s no easy way to get there. I can’t just paint my flip flops red, add sequins and tap them together hoping I’ll fly off and that will be that. Well, I could, but my hopes would be utterly dashed. I’m supposed to take adventure from this, right? Do I hope for an uneventful trip, or not?

Something like a 13 hour drive.