Prompt No. 21 : Road Trip

I walked up to my red BMW, willing myself not to look at my sister. My sister was beautiful. Not to mention extremely smart, she was great at everything she did. Well, almost everything. Currently, she was pretty terrible at being my sister.

We were about to embark on a 10 hour trip to Nashville. Just the two of us. And convincing her to come with me had been quite a feat of its own.

My sister and I hadn't spoken since we were 21. I can't even remember the incident that severed our bond but she did. Or at least, I think she did because she hadn't spoken to me since.

This might be a good place to bring up that we are twins. Not just twins but mirror twins. My sister is literally a reflection of me. And vice versa.  I'm right handed, my sister is left handed, you get the point. And like all sisters, especially twin sisters, we used to be the best of friends. Our bond went deeper than anything I have ever experienced. Until my sister stopped speaking to me.

She stopped a few feet from my car and snorted, "This is YOUR car? Marrying up must have done you good."

I took a deep breath to contain my anger. I was always too quick to let my sister get the best of me. And she definitely knew my weak spots.

"This is my car, yes. I bought this car with my own money. I have a job you know." I swiftly climbed into the drivers seat and slammed my door. I was breathing so hard, it was taking all my effort to keep from lashing out at my sister. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask her why she hated me. Why was she a bitch every single time we set foot in each other's vicinity??

But instead, I controlled it. I pushed the button to start my car and waited patiently as she climbed in the passenger seat.

My therapist was helping me learn anger management. I could tell it was working. For now.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not crazy. It's just that if you had lived with our mother, well, you would have issues too.

I turned to my sister. "Look, I know you don't want to be here. I know that the only reason you are sitting in this seat is because of Dad. But we have ten hours together. Ten. Can you try not to make it as unpleasant as possible?"

My sister looked down at her perfectly manicured hands. She had these long slender fingers that enabled her to play the violin like no other person I had ever heard.

"Fine. But only for Dad."

At that, we both turned to glance at the back seat. There, in a square brown box, was our father's ashes. The whole purpose of our trip contained in one small box.

I resisted the urge to burst into tears and put the car in gear. It was going to be a long drive.