I should have been against my sister getting a permit It was cold. Erica was driving. A smothered grin curved around her lips, as she resisted the urge to step harder on the pedal. “When you drive, you don’t keep looking at the car in front of you; you should look all around. That way you won’t get dizzy.” My mom said sternly next to my sister. I looked to my right. My dad was peevishly looking out the side of the window; discontent with at the driver—she didn’t have a license. Just a permit. The whimsical, easily disposable possibility that when I close my eyes for a few minutes, the world I knew, the personal utopia I possessed that I took for granted could go up in flames and drift away like smoke. It would thin into the blue air, barely an imprint on the sky. They discover joy in security, when in reality it’s a façade of the fear for instability— daunted by despair, yet ironically despairing at that very moment. I shook the abstract moment away. Maybe it was those days when just an air of drowsiness washed over me, or when the days of staying up until 4:30 doing homework got to me, I began to fall asleep quietly and quickly. It was cold and windy. “Close the window, Erica,” I slurred and fell back into sleep. I could hear the monotonous buzz as the window began to rise. I was in the car, my sister driving. She only didn’t have a license. Just a permit. She was holding back a grin, trying hard not go to past 60 miles per hour. Everyone was talking, chatting away. I turned to my father, who unexpectedly had a smile on his face. Everyone did. I traced my lips. It was curved. But in which direction, I cannot remember. I tasted a wet, salty drop. My sister screamed loudly and uncontrollably. I woke up, but it was dark, as if my eyes were still closed. The place smelled unpleasant, and the swishing of cars whirred around my ears. Intense sleep again dragged me back down. When I wake up, it’ll all be gone, I thought. I tasted a lot of salt that day.
Those dulled brown eyes stared emotionlessly at me. A bright light hanged overhead, yet the eyes stared undeterred at me. I blinked, and then the eyes blinked, and five minutes later, I learned that they were my own pair of eyes. Zombielike I walked to the bed clothed in white. Everything was white. The airy gown I was wearing, the heavy bandage weighing down on my side. I dug myself into the bed. Yet no matter how far I dug deeper into the bed, cringing, with my head dug to my knees, I couldn’t find the satisfaction. The satisfaction after you get when you receive a massage by a willing person, or when you do exceedingly well on a test in school and share the laughs of relief with your friends. The warmth.
It was cold.