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I stared out the window silently, a disgruntled glare etched on my face. I never wanted to go on this trip anyway. The miles slid past us as I stared into the emptiness.
My eyes slid shut as I pulled my headphones on. The inoffensive pop rock flowed from the tiny speakers into my ears. Cursed to listen to the same 45 songs for the next 15 hours did not seem appealing, but it was better than listening to the mindless hours of Bugs Bunny cartoons my stepbrothers were watching in the far back.
There I sat, doomed to spend my 17th birthday sitting in the middle seat of a Toyoda Sequoia with my family. An hour slid past. Another CD was played. Warily I reopened my eyes. Trees were now passing by our SUV. They swirled with bright lights that flashed in my eyes. A vice pressed into my head, while my stomach churned with vengeance. Reluctantly I admitted I should not have eaten BBQ before I left the house. Never before had I felt this horrible. Going to sunny Destin, Florida was not worth this pain.
Much to my pleasure, we stopped promptly. My father got out to fill up the gas, while I got out to walk around. Figuring I would feel better with some ice-cold water, I went into the gas station and bought a liter of water, and some chips for my stepbrothers, vowing to sleep the rest of the way.
Unfortunately, it was not the meal I had eaten, nor was it any amount of junk food I had consumed. I could not escape the wicked plague of carsickness. Warily I sat, miserable.
What could I do? Nothing. Just sit there, miserable, for the rest of the trip.
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