At work, when I mark the dates on the calendar, a funny thing happens. It must be the restlessness brewing in my bones. Slogging away at a computer all day when you are meant      for more can do that for you.

My fingers twitch. Why just Monday through Wednesday? I need more time to breathe. I take off the Friday before as well as a pre-vacation.

I have no plans, and the thought buoys me. I’ll do nothing, tell no one. My little work rebellion.

A thrill climbs my spine. I am not sure which vacation I am more excited for: Vacation to Assateague Island or my vacation to nowhere.

*

Friday dawns. I wake up early. I am not sleeping this one through. I need to drink this vacation to the bottom of the cup.

It’s just me and the world.

For today, there is no desk, no screen, no hours petering by and monotonous tasks to tick off.

I get into the car, destination uncertain, feel the freedom in my fingers resting on the wheel. On the way, I pass work. A joyful feeling bubbles in my stomach, and I duck, as though my boss might spot me and be upset I’m not actually on vacation.

I let my hands loosen around the wheel, weighing the possibilities.

*

First, I stop at the French patisserie.

Inside the patisserie, it’s all shades of white and leafy green. Friday morning clientele, it appears, consists of businessmen and the occasional pair of moms on a social outing. I could stay there and eat alone, but the thought sends embarrassed prickles down my spine, so instead, I leave with my pastry and coffee. The pastry is flaky dough smeared with custard, studded with blueberries that stain the custard a deep purple, and the coffee is warm and strong.

Back in my car, the expectation weighs down on me yet again. Now, I’m ready. For what, I’m not sure. Where else does one go on a vacation to nowhere?

*

I arrive at the park to green grass, ruddy leaf-strewn paths, and some mildly exotic trees wearing name tags.

I exit the car. Vacation, here I am.

It is me. I am here. I am not at work on this beautiful Friday morning.

I walk along the paved path, waiting for the vacation feeling to settle. The feeling of I have arrived. I want to feel it trickling down my back, like a water sprinkler on a hot, sticky day.

I step inside the visitor’s center, take a grateful gulp of air-conditioned air, walk down a hallway, and end up back at the front of the building, back outside in the sun.

I find a bench, record some wildly uninspiring prose, bore myself to a stop.

I am almost desperate to feel it. Feel the vacation feeling, the untying of a knot, the heady freedom.

The bench is hard and uncomfortably hot. I consider trying one of the trails before I remember that I’m the type of girl who, if I go on a hike alone, might never return. I prefer not to invite the local police force and Chaveirim to my escape, so I stay on the bench, fingers twitching.

I have arrived, but I am still restless. Restless with anticipation, restless for a crescendo and confetti and all sorts of sweet things to bloom into a vacation-worthy symphony.

Because I did it. I held down a job I did not love. I came every day and clacked at the keyboard and answered phones, made calls after mustering up some courage, did banal tasks and tedious work. Didn’t I deserve to feel that catharsis?

Where was my recompense?

Vacation, where are you?

*

I return to my car. Vacation to nowhere, failed. I take a final sip of my lukewarm coffee, turn up the music, and drive home.

Maybe I’ll clean my room. Besides, I have a vacation to pack for.

*

I don’t tell anyone about my vacation to nowhere. How I plotted giddily in close-mouthed anticipation. How I arrived but did not.

How I sat, smoldering in my own solitude. The burst of getting away shrinking to boredom.

But I still got what I wanted, somehow.

Every so often, sitting in my stuffy office job, I remember it. The walls of my office melt away for a moment to something more magical, and I can feel it — heady with purpose and idealistic anticipation, the allure of freedom — and I give the tiniest smile.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 948)