A Hand Upon My Shoulder

I see her crooked smile. I see her blue eyes sparkle, protruding from underneath her thick-rimmed glasses. I smell the aroma of baking cakes mingled with the smoke from her cigarettes.
An engine starts and I turn to see my parents' Mustang rattle down the narrow country road, making the cow parsley flutter too merrily against the blindingly yellow oilseed rape. I squeeze my eyes shut in disgust and turn back to survey the woman standing before me.