The upholstery in the back seat of our Bonneville was grey-white (perhaps simply dingy from age) with odd black stripes - going both ways - and they crisscrossed to form boxes at certain intervals. The world was so flat on long car trips to my father's hometown that I tired of looking out the window; I ran my pinky nail in the plush and drew stars and patterns. I restarted a hundred times cuz I couldn't get the symmetry right. Everyone once in awhile my mother and father, up in the front seat would exchange glances I assumed were meaningful. I also assumed I would understand them myself when I got older.