"Move it, buddy!" My sister honked at the rusted car creeping by us in the fourth lane that we had, yet again, failed to merge into.

I laughed hysterically, head back and shoulders heaving. "You sound exactly like Mom!"

Aisha grimaced. "Well, if these people would just let me through, I wouldn't have to bark at them!"

"True," I answered, quieting myself with some effort, though I couldn't wipe away the immense smile pasted on my face. She was far too comical to make that possible, her tiny, almost childlike figure behind the wheel, glaring murderously at all who dared to cross her as if she were driving a tank instead of an aged and faded Honda Accord. "So what do you want to buy from the mall?" I asked in an attempt to lift her from her flaming state; she was like a whistling teakettle mere seconds away from explosion.

But she paid me no heed. "Come on, people!" she exclaimed, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of her hand.

"I want to get some gifts for my friends," I replied to my own question.

"Maybe I should turn here," muttered my sister. "There's a gas station up ahead by that traffic light that's cheaper than anything I've seen so far. If I could just get into the fourth lane, then I could manage. If only these jerks would let me!"

I sighed in resignation. Clearly Aisha was in no mood for conversation, at least not with me. My! What a shock. It was all right when she was with her precious group of friends; sure, she could be bright and cheery with them! But stick her in a room with a family member and all signs of affability vanished. Nods, scowls, glares, and the occasional curt and irritated response to a question were all I seemed to receive nowadays. Today would not be any different.

I took to gazing out the window at the dilapidated view crawling by. We were on Beach Boulevard, and the whole of Orange County seemed to be on the road. The sun was close to setting, and the sky was an incredible blend of rose and peachlike hues, which contrasted oddly with the dull buildings and the faded, gray sidewalk they illuminated. People walked effortlessly alongside our car, often overtaking us. The traffic on this city street was progressing at a ridiculously slow pace, what with all four lanes having far more cars than could really fit. I tried not to listen to the blaring horns and angry drivers, focusing instead on the pedestrians who looked so much more at peace than we did. I saw a young woman rolling a stroller, a tall man in a business suit talking on his BlackBerry, a teenager skateboarding and listening to music through minuscule white headphones, a middle-aged woman walking her yellow Labrador.  ...  So engrossed was I in the mysterious lives of the strangers passing by that I didn't notice the rows of cars speeding up, nor the sharp right turn my sister was making as the indicator beeped ominously. …

A second was all I had to notice the silver four-wheeler colliding with my side of the car with an earsplitting bang of metal crushing into metal. A second was all I had to hear Aisha's frenzied cry as she stomped on the brakes, propelling me forward before my seatbelt yanked me back. A second was all I had to see the other car swerve frantically right and left until it hit the curb, one tire rising up on it and bursting violently.

We inched cautiously into the side street and parked at the corner near the silver car, which sat tilted, half on the road and half on the sidewalk, a wounded beast waiting to regain its senses.

I wasn't fully aware we had stopped until I heard Aisha's unsteady breathing grow louder. I turned to her in a half-daze, still unsure whether or not I was dreaming. She sat with her forehead pressed against the steering wheel, smooth peach fingers clutching it firmly, and her jet black hair veiling her face as she muttered incoherently to herself. Sighing heavily, she straightened up, whispering under her breath, "Mom's going to kill me. She's going to kill me ... "

Reluctantly it seemed, she finally swung her door open and scurried over to the silver car, from which a stout, blond man was stumbling. "I am so sorry!" I heard her call to the staggered stranger.

I simply sat there, dumbfounded for what seemed like hours, my mouth hanging open. I tried to slow the rapid rise and fall of my chest as my lungs battled desperately for the air my body felt it needed, though I sat perfectly still and unscathed. How had this happened? I thought. It had been just a normal day, driving to the mall to meet up with some family friends ... and then all of a sudden ... crash. My mind was a raging sea of disjointed thoughts. I couldn't make sense of anything.

I jumped slightly as my passenger door opened with a popping sound. The stench of gasoline filled the car, and I glanced up to see a large man in a tan police uniform standing beside our Honda. Gripping a clipboard and pen, he commenced asking me a string of questions for the report. What was my name? Where did I reside? What was my phone number? Was I wearing my seatbelt during the accident? I answered them all meekly as I accepted reality. I had been in an accident.

Once the officer finished his line of inquiries, he curtly shut the door on me. I turned in time to see my sister striding back to the car, ignoring the curious passengers that drove by our little scene. Children stuck their heads out the windows, ignoring their parents who tugged at them while struggling to catch a peek of the spectacle themselves. The other driver shouted something at Aisha's retreating figure, and she waved a frustrated hand at him. Climbing back into the car, she slammed the door shut, sighing as she turned to look at me properly for the first time today.

"Are you all right?" she managed after a moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied mechanically, seeing her troubled eyes.

"Are you sure? It hit your side of the car, and--" She broke off suddenly, her voice cracking, and I realized it was thick with choked-back tears.

"I'm fine," I said softly, setting aside the disorder in my own mind. I stroked her arm, trying to reassure her. "I'm not hurt. The car didn't hit me at all. It's fine, really."

She shook her head incredulously, averting her eyes from my gaze. "It's not fine. I'm supposed to take care of you, and look what I've done! Are you sure you're all right? You're not hurt? I'm so sorry!" She sobbed silently, biting her lower lip in an effort to control the tears that slid gently down her face onto her lap.

Still stroking her arm, I said, "No, I'm not hurt. It's fine. It wasn't your fault. You didn't mean for this to happen. I'm fine." I continued soothing her until at last she was quiet.

She swallowed and faced me once more, pulling me into such a tight embrace that a crowbar would not have been able to part us. Finally, after a minute or two she released me and, holding me by the shoulders, said firmly, "I love you."

"I know," I said, and all the tension that had existed between us evaporated. We were not bickering or cross. We were not ignoring each other or complaining about some past annoyance. We were not fighting over a petty mishap or blaming each other for occurrences out of our control. We were simply sisters, and that was all that mattered.

© 2010 by Carus Publishing Company