by Roberta Allen
husband--a gambler like our father--races through the mountains at top
speed. This trip feels like a roller-coaster ride. My half sister's husband
can't wait to reach Las Vegas and lose his wife's money. Their son and
daughter hold each other tight in the backseat where I sit too. My half
sister's daughter--who is older than me!--is also shrieking. I keep my
nose pressed against the window glass. I am not afraid.
My half sister's husband laughs gleefully as he makes a hairpin turn on
the steep mountain road without slowing down or honking the horn first.
As we round each bend, my half sister lets out a scream and begs him to
slow down. The more she pleads, the wilder he drives. "You'll kill us
all!" she cries. But her husband is having too much fun to listen. I don't
listen either. I don't let anyone distrurb my daydream: I am at home in
New York with this French boy named Jean. We are rowing on the lake
in Central Park. We are having a very good time.
