Kiwi: The Journey by Trent Chinaswamy

I believe we were somewhere between New Jersey and Virginia when I officially lost my mind. It happened at a grocery store, while getting lunch after a long stretch of our road trip. I got a steak and cheese calzone. However, it was not enough; I had this sudden craving in line and what I said to my family was that I wanted something, “cold, juicy, and sour.” So, I picked out a kiwi. Yes, a kiwi. Immediately after leaving the grocery store, I ran to the car, and carefully put my kiwi in the cooler on the middle seat and covered it with ice.

A few hours of driving later, my mom turned around and asked me if I wanted to actually eat the kiwi, or just draw a face on it and name it. In response, I said, “Why? My kiwi’s chillin’.” After a few seconds of soaking in the ridiculousness of what I just said, the car erupted in laughter. From there on, I kept on opening the cooler every hour, just to see if my kiwi had “chilled” enough. After the fourth time, my mom told me to “leave the cooler alone if you aren’t going to take anything out of it!” So, I checked it every few hours after that, each time getting a deep sigh of helplessness from my family members. Every once in a while, someone would ask me, “No, seriously, are you actually going to eat it?” and I would just say that it was chillin’. My kiwi chilled through a total of thirteen states. It saw more than probably any other kiwi would ever see from the depths of a cooler. It went over bridges, stayed in five hotels, traveled across plains, and visited countless Chicka-fil-as. Oh, how we love our Chicka-fil-as. Every time we arrived at hotel, I would take it out, make sure the produce bag was still tied, and say how long it had until it would be ready for eating in a different voice. One night I would be a butler, “Sir, 72 hours til’ ready, sir.” The next, a little kid before Christmas, “Ohh, no, not, 4 more days? Why can’t Santa come today?” Every time, I got the same response from my sisters: “He needs help.” I ignored them as they turned their headphones up louder.

A few days later, upon arriving home, my sister explained to my dad how I got the kiwi, and after not eating it for a while, my mom asked whether I was going to, but then I cut in and exclaimed as a pirate, “Aye, it’s done cheelin’!” (I like my imitations of certain voices) Then, with a heavy heart, I drew a face on it, cut it up, and ate it. However, after eating it, I was happy because it was an extremely good kiwi, and this was where road trip ended, with cold, juicy, sourness.