The road to Utah: a reverse Odyssey

Tuesday morningOther Hy — my partner for life and chauffeur for the day — is trying to figure out how to make her phone play her brand-new mixtape. My inner monologue demands I tell her to start driving already, and I demand my inner monologue to can it. I want to listen to her work. Besides, there’s plenty of time; it’s 9:55, my flight leaves at 11:40, and the Denver airport is about an hour away by car under normal conditions. This sort of blind obeisance to calendar-time keeps me comforted until about 11:10, when I peek up from my Pokemon and realize: we’re stuck behind a truck and the airport is nowhere in sight. “Sorry,” says my other partner Mal from the shotgun seat. “I didn’t realize traffic would be this bad.” “It’s okay,” I respond, of course. “Me neither.” It's true; as a non-driver I don't know how to estimate these sorts of things. My mind begins to race. What if I miss the conference? What if I never get to present my work on Dominique Christina and objectification? What…