Our family car makes me blush when my friends ride in it. Mountains of crumbs litter the ground and sticky goo lines the drink holders; socks lay abandoned on the floor, and melted lollipops are glued to the ground under the seats. In other words, our car is an ant’s paradise. However, through all the mess, there are comfy leather chairs and electric doors that open with a press of a button and a loud groan of protest. The outside of our car is black: causing the car in the summer to heat up till it becomes hard to breath in. The exteroir of the car show the car's history: scratches and dents line the metal doors, and an off-black spot of metal can be found on the back bumper of the car, an obvious bandaid caused by a car accident.

“The braves are playing five times in May, though we are going to be visiting Grandma and Grandpa so we will miss two of them.”

Ben, a six feet four inch, eighth grade giant, interrupted Joseph, a five feet eight inch, twelfth grader, with a moan.

“Do you know that devil, Shanti, she slapped me. All I was doing was moving her pencil bag. She slapped me!”

My brother repeated as if still trying to get past the shock. “And do you know what, I got in trouble with Mr. Hathaway for it! Me! She is so annoying”, he growled.

My mom sighed, “You had a crush on her yesterday?”

“No!” but his blush gave him away, “well I don’t anymore.” That was a lie I thought.

There were many pros and cons for sitting in the back of my seven seat family van. One of the pros was how the conversation happening in the front became murmurs. This came in handy as my autistic brother, Joseph would talk just for the sake of talking each and every morning when we drove him to school. Once we dropped him off my second oldest brother, Ben would take his place, talking just to talk. One of the best virtues I have gained from having brothers is ignoring.

As we begin our drive turning onto the highway, Joseph who had midnight black hair and pale skin and stuck out like a sore thumb in our family photos, had just gotten a phone. He turned on the music that he had just downloaded, turning up the volume till the whole car could hear the buzzy voice of Dave Matthews coming out of the phone’s not so great speaker.

“Lying in the park on a beautiful day,
Sunshine in the grass and the children play,
Sirens passing, fire engine red”

Ben, who was sitting in the front, contoured Joseph by turning on the radio, blasting “B.O.B Airplanes”, masking Dave Matthews in rap,

“Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky are like shooting stars?
I could really use a wish right now
Wish right now”

The music kept on getting louder, each side defending their right to the music, till my mom ended the battle, causing both sides to retreat, with the calm words of her peace treaty:

“Please guys not in the morning.”

Instead, both sides compromised on “Somebody That I Use to Know.”

I looked out the window watching the world pass me as green, brown and gray blurs from the passing trees and cars filled my view. I placed my head on the speakers, letting the radio blur out the voices that were mumming in the front. As I experienced one of my favorite feeling of drifting in and out of a slumber of thought, I smiled, enjoying a small moment of peace.

As we crossed over the Willy Bridge, I made sure to look at both sides: enjoying the sun peaking over the beautiful arches of the train bridge that filled the right side view, and the still dark left side of the bridge, the murky cool water just starting to sparkle from the rays of the sun.

Ben has a way of always making me laugh. He shares many of the Lebanese qualities that we received from our dad: brown eyes, tan skin, and dark brown curly hair. However he was much taller than I would ever be, forever larger than any other boy his age. Though our appearances are similar our personalities are polar opposite. He is moody while I am energetic and happy, he is rash while I am cautious. 

I remember when we went to Mexico and my brother ate a random cactus that we had found while walking. During that moment I felt proud of my cautiousness. I can also remember when we went to the beach and he got on the backwards roller coaster while instead I sat back and watched. All I could feel was regret, all pride gone. Sometimes his decisions payed off and sometimes they didn’t, however I alway felt empty, regretting the fun I had missed when I decided to stay back.

As we neared the end of our car drive after dropping off Joseph, Kara, my mom’s co-worker appeared behind us in her gray minivan, meeting us at the stop light that led up to the entrance of our school. My mom waved, noticing her friend, then returned to her conversation with my brother.

“Would you turn down your music we are getting close to my work not to mention my co-worker is behind us”, my brother replied with a nod and then turned on the radio louder until the metal walls of the car could not hold it in. “Benjamin!” my mom cried over the music. “What-I can’t hear you, the music's too loud”, he then started jumping up in down to the the beat of the music, causing the car to rock and sway back and forth.

“Cause I’m on top of the world,’ay,
I’m on top of the world,’ay,
Waiting on this for while now,
Paying my dues to the dirt.”

I giggle, as my mom trying not to smile said, “Okay, okay, that’s enough”, turning off the music. We drove into the driveway of our school and another day of 4th grade. Onlookers would stare, but Benjamin would not care. This has always stuck with me, and found its way into my personality.

The car hummed, as we drove out of our driveway, I watch my mom’s graceful hand that unlike mine are long and slender, as she carefully steered the car out onto the main road. My mom and I look nothing alike, except when we smile, though we both have brown hair and brown eyes that reflect the world around us.  Her skin is lighter than mine and decorated with freckles, but our noses are by far the biggest difference: I have a Lebanese nose, she has and irish one.

Both of my brothers had left our car drives to school. Growing up and leaving me behind, as they went off to high school and college. This left me in charge of the radio.  It also allowed me to finally graduate from the seats in the middle of the van to the front seat. I immediately  turned on the radio, letting the sound of Mumford and Son surround my senses, as I strained to hear the lyrics.

“But you’ve only lost the night,
preset all your pretty feelings”

I soon started to drift, I thought of school and the History presentation that was due on Tuesday. I then remembered my friend’s reaction when she got into A+ on her math test and I giggled. My mom turned her head.

“What are you thinking about”, she questioned, a smile a appearing on her lips as my smile spread to her.

“Nothing”, I remarked, as I turned my head back to the window. My remark was answered with a sigh.

“Someday I will find out what you are thinking.”

I shivered, somethings should not be know and my thoughts were on that list. This conversation was a repeat that happened almost every time we got into the car.

When I turned my attention back to the radio the song had been replaced by Ho Hey.

I pressed my forehead against the window, as we crossed the Willey Bridge. Fog hooved over the water, only allowing the small islands to be seen: the tangle of brush poking out of the blanket of gray. I turned my head to look out of the window of the passenger side to see the train bridge. The fog covered the feet of the bridge, but allowed the beautiful aches to be seen, giving the optical illusion of the bridge being twice as tall as it really was.

"(Ho!) I've been trying to do it right
(Hey!) I've been living a lonely life
(Ho!) I've been sleeping here instead
(Hey!) I've been sleeping in my bed."

The lyrics to Ho Hey filled my eardrums, as the beginning of the bridge grow farther away and the beginning of a day in 5th grade grow nearer. If there was one thing that I will miss if I ever leave Richmond it would be this bridge and how the view always looked different.

I switched the channel to discover that Doctor Doctor was playing on the 60s rock station, I instantly smiled remembering my dad who had shown me this song. My dad could never remember names yet he could remember thousands of quotes and songs. His mind would be triggered with just a few words and then he would be able to sing the rest of the song. But it was not just songs that he would could recite it was quotes to, his favorites consisted of: “if it kills you you will never have to eat it again” and “when you are down to your last ten dollars eat lobster”.

My dad has shown me what loving music is and what having a good time can be.

“Am I doing anything today”, I asked my mom.

“No, but I have a meeting at school with some parents so we might be staying a little longer.”

“Like, how long?”

“Maybe till 6:00”, she answered.

I spent most of my life at my school, in fact the only reason why I come home is to sleep. I got up at 6:00am in the morning, then left my house at 7:00am, so I could spend 35min sitting in the lobby of my school. I would sit in a big marshmallow chair, where I could only hear murmuring from the other rooms, sound waves escaping: squashing through the atoms in the wall. Beside from the low hum of other people's voices, the world around me would be silent, as I sat in the main entry. I cherish this silence, as I wait for the outside sky to turn bright.
My mind wandered back into the car, I realize that I was holding my mom hands, as Adele's Rolling in the Deep played through the speakers. My mom’s hand was cool but strong, it was everything she was. My mom is my rock.

Our car turned into the driveway of our school, “back again”, my mom sighed. I smiled, I was not sad to be back and I knew that in the inside my mom was not either. Because, through the map test and the graphs; was laughter, giggles, learning, silent lobby’s and long car drives, the small moments that made me, me.
I squished my mom’s hands three times, a silent “I love you”.

6th grade was when mom left my car dives, she had stopped working at Sabot, so instead I road with my dad. It’s funny how much the interior of a car can tell you about someone. The interior of my dad’s Escape is clean, except for the defining stench of  garlic that seems to find its way from the restaurant that he owns. There are two other big difference in my car drives to school. I would never get to school really early and I would never stay late, and the second was that instead of listening to music we listened to NPR.

“Syria is in turmoil as millions of refugees are leaving the country from the ongoing civil war.”

With each program that we listened to I would ask him thousands of questions and he would answer all of them, introducing me to the world.

“I still don’t get why Egypt's Arab Spring worked out and Syria's didn’t.”

“It’s all because of the militarily in Egypt”, my dad replied. “The military does not work for the government like it does in Syria, instead it kept everything in check when there were protests during the arab spring.”

My dad is mirrored by Benjamin.  However, the Lebanese blood that rushes through his veins is  like an ocean, where Benjamin’s is a lake, and mine is just a stream. He has olive tan skin, and gray curly hair: that is starting to fray with every passing year. The most import feature is his nose: a nose that I share, a nose that showed how his ancestors left Lebanon and came to America for a better life, a Lebanese nose. His nose is big and long, with a bump in the middle and the end curves down. It is not a very pretty nose, but to me it is one the most beautiful nose in the world.

As we crossed the Willey Bridge, I made sure to look both ways, pressing my nose against the glass and feeling the cold air through the window. On both sides, snow covered the trees and the rocks: making the scene almost blinding as the sun bounced off the white of the snow.

As we entered my school, my mind was already pounding, contemplating how I would change the world.

We waited in the car for my mom to come out of the house. The sky was slowly brightening and the minutes were ticking by.

“If we don’t leave soon we will be late” I thought.

My two brothers sat in the the front. Ben was driving and Joseph was sitting in the passage seat. Both of them were taking classes in college this year, and our family was suddenly in need of a third car, but until we got one my mom and I were driven to school by my brothers.  I missed the quiet, as my brothers talked simultaneously, the same way I had missed the noise when they had stop riding with us a view years ago.

Once my mom jumped in the car, we sped off towards Sabot at Stony Point and another day of 7th grade. I opened my book, letting the loud chatter from my brother’s fade away, as I dove into another world. The only thing that kept me in reality was occasionally when my mom would yell at my brother to slow down: her voice breaking the barrier I had put up to protect me against the ongoing talking from my brothers.

As we crossed the Willy Bridge, I automatically looked up to see the view of the river, making sure to look both ways. I watched from my car, as a train passed on the old arch bridge, the sun behind it giving the train an almost halo effect, making it seem holy.

We zoomed into our school, my mom yelling from the back set for my brother to slow down, as she held what my dad called the, “Jesus Handle”, as people would yell, “Jesus”, when they held on to it.  I smiled, as I closed my book, to think that it was only 7:35am and my mom had already had a small heart attack.

I got out of the car, leaving my brothers chatter, I could not wait for the silent lobby that awaited me and the car drive to take me back home. As the door shut behind me, the lyrics from See You Again escaped;

"How can we not talk about family when family's all that we got?
Everything I went through you were standing there by my side
And now you gon' be with me for the last ride."

“At this monement could the univers have chosen a more perfect song ” I thought.