We had left a note for the rest of the crew telling them we'd return in time for dinner, so by late afternoon, just as the snow was starting to fall, we got back on the road. By the time we'd maneuvered out of town, the light snow had turned into a blizzard. We drove for nearly three hours in blinding flurries, my hands gripping the wheel as dark settled. Sensing we must be close to our turn-off, I asked Suzy to check the map. "Actually," I told her, "it makes me a little nervous. I don't want to know if we've gone the wrong way." We laughed. Suzy looked up from the map.
"We went in the wrong direction."
"That's not funny."
"I'm not kidding. We drove in the wrong direction."
On every trip, there comes a time when you must take stock of your traveling companion and decide whether to keep her or push her out of the car. For Suzy and me, this was our moment. While we had known each other for years, we had never been on a road trip before. She could have been the sort to ask why I had not consulted the map before we left. I could have been the sort to demand what use was she, sitting there staring out the window while I did all the driving.
Instead, I shot her an uneasy glance.
"So we're lost."
"Yes."
"I like being lost."
"I like being lost, too."
