For my girl, Sheena <3 who's an inspiration and practically a big sister to me!
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With the top down and the wind in my hair, I was finally at peace for the first time in days. The sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the clear sky with hues of lavender, pink, and navy blue. An early evening breeze set in, fingering through my hair and leading the canopy trees to dance. The small things in life--such as cruising around with my big brother as the sun set behind us--were what mattered the most to me. Who cares how rich or famous you were? Who cares about what house you live in or what car you drive?
None of that materialistic shit matters really; I just wish my parents saw that too.
"It's getting late, we should probably head back," Mike declared, as he attempted to make a sharp K-Turn.
I pouted my lip and whined. "No. Just a little longer, please? I can't go back there yet."
"No way, Aub, it's not going to work this time," he shook his head, and threw the stick-shift into a higher, faster gear. "You remember last time you snuck out? Forgive me for not wanting to deal with the police again."
I crossed my arms, and slumped back in the leather seat. "That was one time . . ." I grumbled. "It's not my fault they're overprotective freaks."
Mike didn't answer. Like many others, I had tired him out with my constant mouthing off about my parents.
The tires of the car screamed as Mike sped around the curvy road, causing the alignment of the car to rock from side to side. Squealing in terror, I grabbed onto the suede side handle.
"Mike, slow down!" I cried, laughing nervously. "You're going to kill us!"
He swerved, and twisted the wheel to the right. "And from what you've told me, it sounds like you'd rather be dead than live with Sid and Nancy."
He was using my own words against me. Earlier in our conversation, I compared our parents to the out of control, sadistic punk rock couple Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen. Following that statement, I said they should just slaughter me and put me out of my misery. The parallel was a bit far-fetched, but I figured Mike would have played it off as an exaggerated wisecrack.
"I'm too young to die!"
The wind tangled my hair and whipped at my eyes, causing them to water. Mike glanced over at me, burst into laughter and then brought the car to a sudden, convulsive halt. I panted and glared at him, as he cracked up. His face started to turn purple, as he gasped for air and clutched his stomach.
"What are you looking at?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow at him.
Wheezing, he choked out, "You . . . look . . . like . . ."
Impatiently, I flipped the sun visor down and opened the mirror. My hair, five times its normal size, was frizzed out, with clumps sticking out in every direction. Mascara tracks ran down my cheeks, and my once perfect foundation was now discolored and smeared.
Mike laughed even harder when I scowled at my reflection.
"Screw you," I said through my teeth, as I tried to clean myself up. His eyes were still focused on me, so I turned to him and snapped, "Quit staring and start driving."
Mike internally contained his bouts of laughter and brought the Mustang back to life. He calmly cruised, knowing I would choke him if he didn't. Having an older brother made me tough as nails. Growing up as kids, we wrestled a lot. For a while, I was the underdog and too small to take him. But as he grew bigger, I grew smarter. He might have been bigger and stronger, but I was faster and smarter. Eventually, I was able to consistently kick his ass, to the point where he gave up trying. We haven't fought since, mainly because the dynamic has changed, now that we're both too old and too . . . biologically mature. Although sometimes, I like to think that he's just too scared to fight me.
