Page 28 of Even After Sunset

That’s why I made sure to research lesser known, off-the-beaten-path attractions for my road trip. Iwantto see places that are weird, unexpected, quirky. Places that have character. I want this summer to be memorable. Andmine. Not a carbon copy of every other tourist’s visit to the areas I’ll be exploring.

Sure enough, the museum turns out to be really interesting, and Silas’s demeanor changes completely as he becomes utterly absorbed in the exhibits. There’s the world’s most expensive toilet, largest toilet, smallest toilet, ornamental toilets, earliest toilets, and futuristic toilets… in addition to tons of displays and exhibits that explain stuff—like the tricky task of designing prison toilets, which need to be compact and constructed all in one piece without any screws or bolts or detachable parts.

Silas reads every single information plaque about the evolution of plumbing systems (I pass on that one), then lags behind to wait for me while I check out their huge collection of vintage toilet paper. And we both chuckle at the replica of some famous artist’s urinal art installation that sold for over a million dollars.

We spend just over an hour in total checking out the exhibits and gawking at some of the weirder displays and some seriously bizarre toilet-related facts. And when we get back to the truck, Silas seems a little less closed-off. Lighter. He shrugs out of the flannel shirt he’s wearing over his T-shirt and tosses it onto the floor.

“So. Where to next?” He asks, sounding almost enthusiastic.

I pull out my itinerary.

“We’re about forty-five minutes away from this cool vintage carousel just outside Boston.” I tell him. “And then on to Old Orchard Beach for the night. With maybe a couple other stops on the way.”

“You mean, like a kid’s merry-go-round?”

“Yup.” I pull out my folder of maps and unfold the one for the Boston area. “It’s almost a hundred years old, and the music plays on the original band organ. And it has four rows of hand-carved horses you can still ride.”

He still looks unimpressed. He seems more fascinated by the map in my hands than by the history of the carousel.

“You know there’s this thing called Google Maps, right? It’s this wonderful invention that—”

“I thought it would be cool to do this whole trip using only paper maps.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He takes the map from me and glances at the highlighted route. “So, we’re gonna go ride an old carousel.”

“It’s vintage.”

He does that arched eyebrow thing again. “You know vintage is just a fancy word for ‘old’, right?”

“I think it’ll be cool.” I retrieve my slightly tattered Eyewitness New England Guidebook from the door and toss it to him. “It’s around page seventy. There should be a green sticky note marking the page.”

He turns the book over in his hands, studying it as if he’s never seen a guidebook before. Maybe he hasn’t.

He flips through the pages. “Please tell me you didn’t use color-coded sticky notes.”

“Yeah. So?”

I gave up being embarrassed about my organizing obsession years ago. It’s helped me get straight A’s since elementary school, and plan my weekends andkeep on track of all the other stuff I have going on. Color-coded stickies are a lifesaver.

“Green is for ‘want to check out and short distance from my route’,” I explain. “Yellow is ‘could be interesting and on my route’. And pink is ‘want to check out but a little ways off my route’.”

I glance at him, and his eyes are round with awe.

“Holy shit. You really don’t mess around.”

“Fun fact,” I tell him, “The more research you do ahead of time, the easier it is to be spontaneous once you’re actually travelling.”

He gives me a funny look. “That makes absolutelynosense.”

“It makes a lot of sense. Other than having to spend the morning trackingyoudown, we haven’t wasted any time trying to find out what there is to check out around here. Or figuring out how to get there, or if it’s even open… that stuff sucks up a pile of time.”

He looks back at the guidebook and nods: “Huh.” Then spends the next few minutes skimming through the pages. I turn the music up and he doesn’t seem to notice, so I get to enjoy three consecutive Imagine Dragons songs without one protest or complaint.

A couple of miles past Quincy, he looks over at me.

---