Through the dirty windshield and past the raindrops dancing on the glass I am able to see the sky. The sky is gray. Gray until it becomes white, that is, and even there it has darker clouds floating by. I always thought the sky was supposed to be blue. I guess not, and it does sadden me to realize so.
The car smells faintly like peppermint. Not the red and white kind, but the powdery kind. The kind that is nearly one hundred percent sugar and sticks to the roof of your mouth. They probably rot your teeth, but I eat one anyway before handing the metal canister over to my sister.
The sip of water I take is ice cold, the mint in my mouth causing what should have been lukewarm water to taste like a glacier. My teeth freeze and I numb all the way to my brain, but as I put the cap back on the bottle and shove it into the cupholder I remember being numb isn't so bad.
My sister sings along to songs I don't know and to words I don't recognize from the back seat. It's strong and steady, yet if I shut my eyes it almost seems to fade to white noise. Calm. A soft pounding that reminds me that I am still here and I have always been here.
As the air conditioning blasts me, I am quick to open my eyes, because the air is frigid against my uncovered arms. I almost laugh as my hair stands on end before turning the vent away from me and towards my mother, who complains but smiles as she does so. I pull on my jacket, the familiar fabric immediately filling me with warmth despite barely being a second layer. A placebo, I suppose.
I am always disappointed when the vibrations of the car from bouncing along the poorly done roads fade as we turn into our driveway and the car is shut off. The numbness, too, fades, and I become aware of my life once more.
It seems the journey does not last forever.
