One of my first memories is of the only family vacation my family tried to take. My parents, what with their busy schedules and all, never had time to take us anywhere, but by some miracle, they had a whole three days off on a murky summer weekend. I remember the van they rented the most. I remember the way the seats were stained and smelled like old. I remember the grand smile that made my mom look years younger, too young to have a six year old son and a four year old daughter. I remember how my dad played Come Together by The Beatles so loud my small fingers vibrated against the glass as I tried to look out of Sawyer's window, which I had reached by crawling over to him and hovering over his sleeping frame. All was going well, until it wasn't. I would try to specify, but even I can't remember what truly happened. I remember yelling and tires screeching and bracing against an impact that never hit. I remember Sawyer waking up and hugging me to his small, heaving chest as he cried out my name, "it's okay Way, it's okay." I remember watching as a car, probably with a family like ours, screaming, crying, hit the median. I remember the car folding as swiftly as cards being shuffled by skilled hands. I remember red and blue lights. I remember crying harder because my ears hurt because the sirens wailed on as mom and dad talked to men in uniforms, blue, dark blue, like Sawyer's eyes, like dad's eyes. I remember wanting the noise to stop as my mom grabbed my face between her trembling hands and shushed me. Maybe she wanted the noise to stop too.
After that day, my parents didn't rent vans and try to play the role of a plastic family. My family was made of rubber and glass. My family never took anything in, always letting it bounce back, too afraid to shatter. When I looked at Flynn and Carter, one with his always moving hands on a well loved steering wheel, the other with mile long legs stretched along a scratched, synthetic, feels like home seat. I wanted to know that they were wooden. Solid like Sawyer, loving like my mother, protective like my father. I wanted to meet their ridges and carvings and dig so deep into their soil I would find their tangled, mangled roots. I curled my legs up to my chest, resting my feet on the dash. I watched everything. Watched the way Flynn would put his right hand down, closer to me, whenever a car would get to close, as if he would hold me against my seat in case something went wrong. I watched as Carter's foot bounced, always moving, even while he was asleep. I looked over at Flynn, tilted my head as I let my hair cascade down.
"Do you ever play music while you're driving?"
It looked like I had taken him out of a trance, "not unless a customer asks me too."
I smiled, "am I still considered a customer?"
Flynn chuckled with a dry humor, a smirk forming as he pointed toward the rusty orange numbers on his meter, "as long as that's running, yes."
I glanced down, astonished by the number. I gulped, hoping the money I had in my bag would suffice. I tried to put on a nonchalant front as I answered.
"Well in that case, I'm gonna turn on some music."
I reached into my backpack, which had remained by my feet after the whole incident at McDonald's, and pulled out my phone. Flynn passed me a cord which I plugged in, already having a song picked out. As I clicked play, I heard rustling begin in the back seat. I turn back to see Carter curl into a ball, knees to his chest, head tucked away, until he sprang out again.
"Good Morning."
I laughed lightly, peeking at the rising sun that had highlighted Carter's almost-white-it's-so-blond hair, making him seem like a haloed saint, "Good Morning, how did you sleep?"
