The Family Road Trip to Nowhere

Zeke pressed his nose against the car window as his dad turned the key in the ignition. “Where are we going? Where are we going?” he asked for the hundredth time that morning.

His mom smiled from the front seat, adjusting her sunglasses. “We’re going to Nowhere!”

“Nowhere?” Zeke’s little sister Mabel giggled from her car seat. “That’s silly!”

“Nowhere is a real place,” Dad said with a wink. “It’s exactly 147 miles away, and it’s the most special place you’ve never heard of.”

Zeke wasn’t sure if his parents were being serious or silly, but he decided it didn’t matter. An adventure was an adventure! He had packed his favorite stuffed elephant, Trumpets, and a backpack full of important supplies: three rocks he’d found in the yard, a plastic magnifying glass, and half a granola bar.

The car rumbled down their street, past Mrs. Henderson watering her garden, past the library with the stone lions, and onto the highway where the trees whooshed by like green clouds.

“I spy with my little eye something that is… blue!” Mabel announced.

“The sky!” Zeke shouted.

“Nope!”

“Dad’s shirt!”

“Nope!”

“That bird?”

“That bird isn’t blue, silly. It’s purple with orange spots!”

Zeke looked again. The bird flying alongside their car was definitely NOT purple with orange spots. But that was Mabel—she had an imagination bigger than the whole wide world.

After what felt like a thousand minutes (but was probably only forty-five), they stopped at a gas station that sold the coldest, most delicious lemonade Zeke had ever tasted.

“Are we at Nowhere yet?” Zeke asked, licking his lips.

“Not quite,” Mom said, studying a map that looked very old and crinkly. “We have to turn left at the singing bridge, then right at the upside-down tree.”

“Trees can’t grow upside down!” Zeke said.

But ten minutes later, there it was—a tree that had fallen over in a storm and kept growing with its roots in the air, looking exactly like it was planted upside down in the sky. Zeke’s mouth dropped open.

“Whoa,” he whispered.

The singing bridge was next, and it really did sing! When their car drove over it, the metal grates hummed a tune that sounded like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” mixed with a friendly dragon’s purr.

“We’re getting close,” Dad announced as they turned onto a bumpy dirt road.

The road got bumpier and bumpier until it wasn’t really a road at all anymore—just a path through a meadow of wildflowers as tall as Zeke’s waist. Yellow ones, purple ones, pink ones that smelled like birthday cake, and blue ones that Mabel insisted were actually “singing blue like the ocean’s dream.” Whatever that meant.

Finally, Dad stopped the car. “We’re here!”

Zeke looked around. There was nothing but flowers, a big oak tree, and a wooden sign so faded he could barely read it. He squinted hard: “Welcome to Nowhere.”

“But… there’s nothing here,” Zeke said, feeling disappointed. He’d been expecting something amazing—maybe a theme park, or a castle, or at least a really good playground.

Mom opened her door and stepped out into the sunshine. “That’s exactly right, Zeke. There’s nothing here but us.”

Dad pulled out a big blanket from the trunk, the red checkered one they used for picnics. Mabel wiggled out of her car seat, already chasing a butterfly that probably didn’t exist.

As Mom and Dad spread the blanket under the oak tree, Zeke started to understand.

Nowhere wasn’t a place with rides or games or shows. Nowhere was a place where they could just be together—no phones buzzing, no neighbors stopping by, no rushing to soccer practice or dance class or dentist appointments.

“Come here, explorer,” Dad called, and Zeke ran over to discover that Dad had brought sandwiches cut into dinosaur shapes, apple slices, cookies with chocolate chips, and a thermos of hot chocolate even though it was summer.

They ate and laughed, and Dad told a story about when he was little and got lost in a grocery store, and Mom told a story about when she was little and tried to teach her cat to swim, and Mabel told a story about a princess who rode a dragon made of ice cream, which probably wasn’t a real memory but was a very good story anyway.

After lunch, Zeke used his magnifying glass to study ants marching in a line. They were carrying a piece of cookie crumb, working together to bring it home.

“They’re a family too,” Zeke said. “Going on their own adventure.”

“That’s very wise,” Mom said, ruffling his hair.

Then they played hide and seek among the flowers, and Dad pretended he couldn’t find Mabel even though she was standing right behind him giggling. They flew Trumpets the elephant like an airplane, making whooshing noises. They lay on their backs and found pictures in the clouds—a bunny, a pirate ship, and something Mabel insisted was a “snorkeling rhinoceros.”

As the sun started to paint the sky orange and pink, Zeke realized something important.

“I like Nowhere,” he said quietly, leaning against his mom’s shoulder.

“Me too,” Mom whispered back.

“Best place ever!” Mabel shouted, because she didn’t know how to whisper.

Dad started packing up the blanket. “Should we come back to Nowhere sometime?”

“Yes!” both kids shouted together.

On the drive home, Zeke and Mabel fell asleep in the backseat, their heads bobbing with the movement of the car. Zeke dreamed of purple birds and upside-down trees and a place called Nowhere that was really Everywhere that mattered.

When they pulled into their driveway, Dad carried Zeke inside, and Mom carried Mabel, and they tucked both kids into their beds.

“Dad?” Zeke mumbled sleepily. “Can we go Nowhere again soon?”

“Anytime you want, buddy,” Dad said, kissing his forehead. “Nowhere will always be there, waiting for us.”

And Zeke smiled, because he understood now that Nowhere wasn’t really about the place at all. Nowhere was about being together, just the four of them, with nothing to do and nowhere to be except exactly where they were.

Which, when you think about it, was the very best kind of somewhere.

The End

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