Rumble strips.

Scritch, scritch, scritchscritchscritchscritch. The flimsy little pretend credit card I found in my purse is doing little to put a dent in the frost on the window. I had lucked out. When we drew names for who sat where, I got my first pick: way in the back on the right side by the window. It was my favorite spot in the whole big van; a safely enclosed little corner of my world, where I was content to stare out the window and daydream, speculate, ponder. Things flew into my mind with seemingly no trigger whatsoever. What did they do with all that water while they tried to build a dam? Who first figured that broccoli was actually a food and not just a fuzzy cactus?

I press my fist against the window and let the frost melt, warmth sapped from my clenched hand. I can see out the window for just a moment, just a glimpse of sparkling snow in the fading late afternoon haze, and then frost rapidly reforms in a new pattern, this one more like crystals. Why does frost form again? Weird that they haven't invented windows that wouldn't frost.

The heat didn't always reach the back of the van very well. It was a huge van. I could stand up in it without hunching my shoulders at all. I had a big red crate at my feet with stacks of books, mostly Archie comics, but a couple of Incognito Mosquito books that I had checked out from the library too. I don't feel like reading right now. I'm content to let my mind wander.

Up at the front of the van, Mom says something to tease Dad. I don't hear it over the loud vents, but I know Mom must have said something sassy because Dad pokes at Mom's ribs in return as she laughs and swats his hand away. I smile and look back out the window. I realize how lucky I am to have parents so happy and content in their marriage. I start to make a mental list of all the qualities that are required in my future mate.

BDDDRRD. BDDRRRDD.

"What WAS that?" I holler from my spot in the back. With two rows of captain seats in front of me, I can't see the road at all. I feel a growing sense of alarm as the van comes to a stop. Dad lifts up his head in his signature way that he does when he wants us to hear what he's saying without having to take his eyes off the road. I'm leaning way forward, straining to hear. Dad glances to his left, and the van slowly makes a right turn as he turns the heat down so we can hear. "Just rumble strips!" he says, and then turns the defroster back on to max. We can hardly turn it off for a second before the windows are too frosty to see through again, even up front.

I sit back in my chair, satisfied only that there isn't something wrong with the van. Rumble strips. I don't know what they are. It bugs me that I can't figure it out. I try to go back to thinking about the perfect mate, but my mind is stuck on rumble strips. We're almost to the little town where Dad sometimes pulls over to get us each a can of pop from the vending machine. Not very often though. I plan to ask what rumble strips are when we get there. I resume staring out into the now complete darkness.

Many long minutes later, the van slows again as we start to make the familiar left turn. I can't remember the name of the town, and that bugs me too. I know it starts with a C, but it isn't Cooperstown and that's the only C town stuck in my mind.

"Dad! What's this town again?"

He turns the fan all the way down. "Courtnay."

"Oh yeah."

Dad lifts his head up again, kinda like the way he does when he's about to say something loud so we can hear, but this time he sorta turns his head to the right a little so it seems like he's just trying to make sure I'm done talking before he turns the fan back up. So I ask, "So... what are rumble strips exactly?".

Dad laughs a little. Just a small laugh. He was chewing on something. Probably sunseeds. I can see that spot near his temple that moves when he chews. After a few seconds he swallows and then explains, "Rumble strips tell a car that a stop sign is coming up so you can slow down. They kind of stand up a little bit from the road."

He looks up at the rear view mirror again, kind of like he's looking to make sure I understand what he's saying. A chill seeps in without the heat on full blast, so I simply say "Oh." I sit back in my chair, and after a few seconds, Dad turns the heat back up to high and resumes looking straight out the front window. Mom says something to him and he glances at her and then furrows his brow a little like he's thinking and then shakes his head. Then he looks back out at the road. I guess it's popcorn he's eating. I watch as he tosses another small handful into his mouth, and then his temple starts to move in and out while he chews.

I look at my older sister Kristi. She's reading a book. Her reading lamp is on, and that's what's casting the yellow glow throughout the whole van so that I can see. I like it when someone else reads. I like to sit in the dark, but I like having a little warm glow elsewhere in the van. Kristi seems to get what rumble strips are, which doesn't surprise me. She always seems to understand what the grown ups are talking about. Plus when I search her face, I don't find any of the same confusion I feel. Her brow is furrowed only because of the shadows being cast on the page every time we hit a bump.

I look at Scott and Brooke and Marcy. They don't seem to care what rumble strips are. I guess I'm the only one. I stare back out the window. Using the tip of my finger, I put five little dots over the top of my fistprint from earlier. It looks exactly like a baby's foot. I use my other fist to "walk" little baby footprints up the window. It looks real.

I wonder if they can somehow sense that a car is there and it triggers something to reach up and scrape the bottom of the van. I know the bottom of the van got scraped, of that I am sure. I felt it. I suppose it could work.. a car hits a little line on the road and then up pops a rumble strip to scrape the bottom of the car and let you know that a stop sign is coming up. Sort of like Pop Goes the Weasel. But that doesn't quite feel right. Roads aren't mechanical. That would be really expensive to make, wouldn't it? If they could make something like that, surely they could fix all the bumps in the road, no problem. And what if a motorcycle went over a rumble strip? That could be dangerous to shoot one up at the bottom of a motorcycle. They don't mess around with motorcycles. My uncle Craig was in a bad motorcycle accident, not because of rumble strips I don't think, but he was in a coma for a long time. But when he woke up out of his coma, he knew it was Sunday. My future mate will NEVER ride a motorcycle. Ever.

But if Dad said that's what rumble strips do, then I guess that's what they do.

I just can't quite figure it out.