My little brother is rocking himself again, knees to chest. Aaron doesn’t like our father’s surprise road trips. My father says we’re going to love this, although we’ve already made it clear we won’t, which launches him into a tirade: we are Rude and Spoiled, this is our mother’s doing, and we need to be taught what’s Important.
An hour passes in the car.
“Where are we going?” Aaron asks again. He’s eight. I remember eight. It was only two years ago. Forever boring. Now I have a watch. I share it with Aaron because I can see that his blue eyes have become red. Time has stopped for him.