By Kelly Virgin

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The honking horn shouted my excitement up to the third floor apartment window. School year over. Check! Car packed. Check! Friend picked up. Almost check! Ahead of us stretched miles of open road and a full thirty days of possibility and adventure.

A few hours into that first day of our trip, I pulled my Convertible Mini Cooper, burnt orange and overloaded with luggage, off the Blue Ridge Parkway and into a little rest stop. Jill, my co-pilot, fueled up as I ventured into the tiny store to re-up on car snacks. While waiting in line to check out, a flash of vibrant purple caught my eye. I juggled the bags of pizza combos and liters of caffeine into one arm and reached out for the little handmade souvenir. It’s swirl of purple seed petals and bright yellow center screamed to join us on our southern road trip, so I placed it on the counter along side the snacks. A few moments later, before shifting into gear, I absent-mindely wound the stiff green wire around the base of my rear view mirror.

And so, from this central location, the little flower accompanied us across state lines – traveling as far west as the Mississippi, and as far south as the Gulf. She navigated congested cities and cruised down long, vast stretches of nothing. She visited Graceland and the Biltmore. Sat outside hostels and motels. She sat idlly in a garage in Baton Rouge while Winnie, the Mini Cooper, got a new break switch and Jill and I explored New Orleans on foot. 

She listened to three audio books (two Harry Potters and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil) and countless road-trip themed play lists. She overheard long talks about life and love and teaching and future plans and past memories. She eavesdropped on the irritation-driven bickering that is unavoidable when two people share less than 20 cubic feet for 8, 9, 10 hour stretches. She witnessed the wonder on our faces as we crested mountains and rounded corners into the new and the unknown. 

At the end of our long month away, the little sovenier watched as I helped unload luggage, and laundry, and road trip mementos onto the front step of that same three story apartment where our adventures began. And she witnessed what would be one of the last hugs and final goodbyes of an old friendship. As summer shifted into a new year and our lives grew busier, our once close-knit relationship drifted apart. By the following summer, our friendship had turned into little more than a Facebook status. 

Now, many years and a more practical car later, that seeded souvenir still hangs from my rear-view mirror. A few of the petals are broken, the once vibrant violet is faded to a ghost of a purple, and the yellow-center has long fallen out. But, when trudging back and forth through my daily routine, a glimpse at this worn souvenir can still flash me back to the long open road, curving through mountains, wind knotting my hair, and a good friend co-piloting the journey.