"ADELAINE!"
Your sister's face is swollen, red, and hives are breaking out faster than you can count them. "Addie, help!" she moans, scratching at her tiny face.
You spot the open package of cookies on the kitchen counter, crusty edges gaping dripping with peanut butter. You spot the smears around her tiny red lips. "Your Epipen! Where is it?"
"I don't know," she moans, and her voice is barbed wire, tearing up at the edges. There's no sign of the pen, and the phone line's down. No way to reach out to your parents at the grocery store. No way to call the police. Nothing.
Your sister collapses onto the sofa and you look away, breath coming so fast that it feels as if your lungs may simply crumple, like paper bags. Was it always so hot in the living room? Or does the heat only climb when you realize that, at seventeen, the role of an adult has wrapped itself around you like a parka?
"Addie," croaks your sister. She's as puffy as a mini marshmallow, and her voice is hoarse. "Addie, I need a doctor."
The nearest hospital is miles away, the nearest neighbor even further. There is only one option, and your hands break into a clammy sweat at the mere idea of gripping a steering wheel.
Here is a fork in the road. One path leads you to forever dwell in realm of adolescence and fear, and face the consequences. Your baby sister, your responsibility, fights for her life. Following the opposite path, you fill the shoes of maturity, embracing fear as an old friend. You join the battle.
You lunge, scooping up your sister and leaping into the car. The click of the car seat strap, the slice of your seatbelt, and the revving of the engine are blocked from your ears by a barrier of terror.
Perspiration dampens the steering wheel. Reverse gear, rear view mirror, pull out without hitting the basketball hoop. Today, you cannot afford childish mistakes.
Your hands move like automations, heart pounding a frantic tattoo into your chest. Right indicator, check for traffic, merge onto the highway. The air is thick, stuffy, and hard to breathe. If you fail...
But you will not. You catch your spiraling thoughts before they slip out of reach. Your sister needs you. Ignoring the blast of a nearby horn which, a day ago, would have rendered you frozen, you cut sharply into the parking lot of the hospital, and find yourself faced with a single row of cars, and your worst enemy: parallel parking.
But you are not a teenager, to be frightened by it. You are an adult. The car practically parks itself and you sprint outside, pushing your sister into eager arms. Hours later, when her condition has stabilized, they will ask you of your relationship with the patient. You will say, "I am her older sister, Adelaine," while knowing in your heart that for an hour, you were her mother.
