Trip to Julian

Watching the window wipers sway back and forth on the foggy windshield of my mom’s car, rain pours down on to the window making it hard to see out of. People honk their horns, with anger and swerve their way around. I sit staring at the flooded ground outside. Splashes of water fly everywhere as cars speed past. The loud rushing sound of cars driving by fills the area. I turn to look at my mom, her lips moving slowly, but yet I hear nothing. As I stay staring the raindrops slowly hit the windshield and I go blank.

Suddenly I’m in Julian. Winter vacation of 2004. The bright sun sets behind the mountain tops leaving a layer of orange, yellow, and purple in the sky. The car packed with eight of us happy and cheering aloud. When suddenly the car takes a sharp turn, spinning in a half circle along the slippery road. Nervously I bury my face deep into the pillow that lay on my lap. I can smell the clean laundry soap aroma that lingered on it.

Our heads swung forwards then backwards pulling our bodies with them. The car then fills with nothing but silence. I slowly lift my head, and staring at me is my cousin who was as pale as snow. Her arms and legs shake uncontrollably making the back seat feel like one of those massaging chairs. With my body in shock and my hands slowly starting to shake, I can feel my heart beating harder than I’d ever felt it beat before. It was so strong that I can feel it making my body vibrate with it. We sit there in the silent car staring at one another, with not one word being said.


I then feel a hand gently pat my shoulder, and all turns to darkness. The vivid memory of Julian which was once so clear is gone. My body turns numb and I slowly open my eyes. I’m back, still sitting in the passenger seat of my moms 2004 Chrysler Sebring. The rain pouring down harder than before, forcing my mom to lean forward in her seat. She squints her eyes causing her forehead to wrinkle. Her hands tightly squeeze the steering wheel as we slowly take a turn. With a strong grip, I grab a hold of the seatbelt that crosses my chest. I can’t help but to feel a sense of uneasiness.