Family

The boys laughed, the girl closed her eyes, and smiled. Two boys, one girl. They were going so fast that the air felt cold, stop at a traffic light, and it would be hot. The sun was harsh. The engine was loud, but they were used to it now. There was an impatient driver behind them, honking his horn. The smell of diesel danced through the air, as they passed a petrol pump. You could taste the fumes from the aged bus in front of you. One of the boys stretched out his hands, his mother slapped them down, cautioning him to be careful, snapping at him. The mother was sitting at the back, the eldest boy in front of her, the daughter in front of him, her hands hugging her father, who was driving, and the youngest son in front of dad, watching the road. They were on an old motorcycle, all five of them fitting impossibly on it. Yet when you looked at them, it seemed natural. They were one family, one unit.

The children loved riding the motorcycle, for different reasons. The eldest because he loved feeling the wind on his face, tickling him everywhere. The girl because she loved hugging her father, she barely got to see him because of his job, and every now and then, like right now, he would put one warm hand on both of hers that were wrapped around his navel, and squeeze. She would squeal in delight. The youngest because he loved seeing all the sights and sounds, and it seemed to him that everyone walking on the sides of the street that looked at him, looked at him in awe. It was cool.

They stopped at a traffic light. Beggars began their work. None of them came near the family. For the simple reason that they were on a motorcycle, and were probably poor. The smell of fumes stood in the air, the sound of idling engines. A few horns from streets nearby. Otherwise, just the humdrum of a city in the evening.

The father was lost in his own thoughts. He squeezed his daughter’s hand as he wondered when he would be able to afford a car. This was not safe. He knew they loved it. But he worried about them. He tousled his youngest son’s hair. Looked around and smiled at his wife, faint. But she would not notice. Her eyes were sparkling as she looked at the shops on the side of the road, the ones that sold shawls and bangles. He sighed. He wished he could make all their dreams come true. He could not. He did not make enough money. That’s what it all boiled down to.

The horns began before the light turned green, impatient drivers already edging on the cars in front of them. He revved his engine and they were off. His heart leapt with joy, as his daughter nuzzled her head in his back, as his youngest shouted with joy, the eldest laughing. They were good kids. Screech. Bam. His head spun from the impact. Before he passed out, he tried looking around. They were on the ground, someone’s legs were impossibly mangled. Two children, and a mother died on impact.