A road trip still brings out the lighthearted kid in us

Aunt Dana pulled the car to the side of state Route 89A on our way home from Jerome so I could grab my laptop out of the trunk.

I was just about to get out when I saw Dana’s eyes in the rear-view mirror light up.

I knew that look.

“Don’t even think about it!” I told her.

Dana is one year and one day older than me. I was 18 when I first met her, working in my family’s business. She was 19 and later married Uncle Virgil.

“What?” my cousin Theresa in the front passenger seat asked, looking between me and Dana.

She’s going to leave me on the side of the road, I said.

“No, she’s not,” Theresa said. She turned to Dana. “Would you?” Dana tried not to laugh. She nodded. I come from a family of practical jokers. Serious practical jokers. Like putting 100 chicks in the backyard and hiring high school marching bands to play pre-dawn in front of the house.

Dana once sent me into a Circle K for ice and then backed the car around to the side of the store where I couldn’t see her. Later, when I reached for the door handle, she’d move the car forward a few feet.

We’d giggle. That stuff was funny.

Then.

Now Dana was laughing so hard in the front seat she was crying.

I thought, we’re grown women. She wouldn’t dare. Our eyes met again in the rear-view mirror. She might.

I took my cell phone just in case and ran to the trunk. The car inched forward.

Dammit, Dana!

I snatched my laptop, keeping one hand on the open trunk and one foot in the car. I pushed on the trunk and jumped back in before it slammed shut.

Dana was hunched on the steering wheel, howling.

Sure, we’re grown women. But we’re still playing.