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29.
All night Wednesday, and all day Thursday, I tried to use my new
understanding of her to figure out some meaning to the clues I had—some
relationship between the map and the travel books, or else some link between the
Whitman and the map that would allow me to understand her travelogue. But
increasingly I felt like maybe she had become too enthralled with the pleasure of
leaving to construct a proper bread crumb trail. And if that were the case, the
map she had never intended for us to see might be our best chance to find her.
But no site on the map was adequately specific. Even the Catskill Park dot,
which interested me because it was the only location not in or near a big city,
was far too big and populous to find a single person. “Song of Myself” made
references to places in New York City, but there were too many locations to
track them all down. How do you pinpoint a spot on the map when the spot
seems to be moving from metropolis to metropolis?
I was already up and paging through travel guides when my parents came into
my room on Friday morning. They rarely both entered the room at the same
time, and I felt a ripple of nausea—maybe they had bad news about Margo—
before I remembered it was my graduation day.
“Ready, bud?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not that big of a deal, but it’ll be fun.”
“You only graduate from high school once,” Mom said.
“Yeah,” I said. They sat down on the bed across from me. I noticed them
share a glance and giggle. “What?” I asked.
“Well, we want to give you your graduation present,” Mom said. “We’re
really proud of you, Quentin. You’re the greatest accomplishment of our lives,
and this is just such a great day for you, and we’re— You’re just a great young
man.”
I smiled and looked down. And then my dad produced a very small gift
wrapped in blue wrapping paper.
“No,” I said, snatching it from him.

---

“Go ahead and open it.”
“No way,” I said, staring at it. It was the size of a key. It was the weight of a
key. When I shook the box, it rattled like a key.
“Just open it, sweetie,” my mom urged.
I tore off the wrapping paper. A KEY! I examined it closely. A Ford key!
Neither of our cars was a Ford. “You got me a car?!”
“We did,” my dad said. “It’s not brand-new—but only two years old and just
twenty thousand miles on it.” I jumped up and hugged both of them.
“It’s mine?”
“Yeah!” my mom almost shouted. I had a car! A car! Of my own!
I disentangled myself from my parents and shouted “thank you thank you
thank you thank you thank you thank you” as I raced through the living room,
and yanked open the front door wearing only an old T-shirt and boxer shorts.
There, parked in the driveway with a huge blue bow on it, was a Ford minivan.
They’d given me a minivan. They could have picked any car, and they picked
a minivan. A minivan. O God of Vehicular Justice, why dost thou mock me?
Minivan, you albatross around my neck! You mark of Cain! You wretched beast
of high ceilings and few horsepower!
I put on a brave face when I turned around. “Thank you thank you thank
you!” I said, although surely I didn’t sound quite as effusive now that I was
completely faking it.
“Well, we just knew how much you loved driving mine,” Mom said. She and
Dad were beaming—clearly convinced they’d landed me the transportation of
my dreams. “It’s great for getting around with your friends!” added my dad. And
to think: these people specialize in the analysis and understanding of the human
psyche.
“Listen,” Dad said, “we should get going pretty soon if we want to get good
seats.”
I hadn’t showered or dressed or anything. Well, not that I would technically
be dressing, but still. “I don’t have to be there until twelve-thirty,” I said. “I need
to, like, get ready.”
Dad frowned. “Well, I really want to have a good sight line so I can take
some pic— ”
I interrupted him. “I can just take MY CAR,” I said. “I can drive MYSELF in
MY CAR.” I smiled broadly.
“I know!” my mom said excitedly. And what the hell—a car’s a car, after all.
Driving my own minivan was surely a step up from driving someone else’s.

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I went back to my computer then and informed Radar and Lacey (Ben wasn’t
online) about the minivan.