Minutes after she says those endearing, yet frightening words, Kristy slammed her left feet against the gas pedal then drove like Tony Stewart, conquering a tiring lap.

Screeeeech!  the tires screamed.

The accelerating car steered away from dangerous obstacles: massive potholes, oncoming pedestrians, and lazy drivers fidgeting with their phones.

While Kristy swerved her car around New York's hostile streets, Austin and I were tossed around in our seats, like caramel seeds somersaulting in a heated popcorn bag.

Although our seatbelts were buckled, it was difficult to keep our beating hearts from exploding out of our frigid chests. As a terrified Austin dug his fingers against his soft, black fabric seat, I decided to calm myself down.

Take a deep breath, my brain advises. Just relax, think positive thoughts.

I tried to follow its instructions, but with the wind angrily smacking my hair every five minutes, I immediately stopped concentrating, then asked Kristy if she could slow down.

Gyrating her car around another pothole, Kristy gives me an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Jack!" she shouted through the gusts of vicious wind. "But, if I don't drive faster, we will be late to the funeral!"

Soon after she said those words, Kristy had resumed driving over the speed limit. Bright shades of red, yellow, and bright orange clouded my vision, causing my head to sway a little.

Later on, as the car begins to shake, my head continued to beat the tune of several energetic butterflies, performing endless loops inside my clammy stomach.

What's worse is that the I can already smell the stench of cigarettes and warm sweat in the atmosphere, which is causing my once beautiful hair to wilt like a dying flower.

Trying hard not to puke, I reached out my sweaty left hand, crept up to Austin's, rubbed my fingers against his skin, then squeezed his hand very tightly.

Much to my surprise, Austin's hand was rather warm and soft, compared to mine. In an odd, yet comforting way, at first, I didn't know how Austin had stayed so calm.

Squeezing my eyes, I bite the tip of my tongue hard, until the bitter taste of cold metal rushed over my taste buds.

Disgusted, my free right hand flew inside the contents of my purse when a sudden thrust forced my eyes to awaken.

"We're here!" Kristy exclaimed in relief. "And we have twelve minutes to spare!"

Although I was delighted to hear the news, the joy drained from my dark brown eyes when I saw noticed that Kristy is taking us to a park.

In front of the crimson SUV, is a wiry, gray fence which separates the parking lot from the park itself. Behind the gate, I can see a vast field of green grass ascending from the chocolate-colored floor.

Sleek wooden benches and warning signs scattered across the park like chicken pox, as birds and small critters swarm around luscious dark green trees, which stood rather close to the gates than multiplying on the green empty canvas.

Above me was the sky—now becoming the color of inked words on a page. Several constellations—such as Virgo, Bootes, and the Little Dipper—all had started to appear in front of the invisible clouds; however, I was disappointed that I didn't see my favorite constellation, Sagittarius the Centaur, sitting in stars, pulling back his trusty arrow with a bow.

Before Isadora flaked out on my family, she used to take me and Jacob outside of the apartment, while Joseph was on police duty, scribbling parking tickets.

As an impatient nine-year-old, I would ask Isadora where she was taking us. Being the wise, older sibling, Jacob, who was twelve at the time, tells me to be patient and wait for the "magic" to happen.

But unfortunately for him, I wasn't a huge fan of magic. In fact, I have never liked the game Dungeons and Dragons; up until now, I still think it's one of the world's stupidest roleplaying games I have ever heard.

Whenever someone mentions the game, I can easily picture thirty-year-old slackers cooped up in their mother's basement, tossing odd cubes in the air.

While I normally disbelieve in wild fantasies, Jacob tries to convince me that Isadora is giving us a surprise, something I can remember for the rest of my life.

"Really?" I snorted. "How would you know that? You don't know what the surprise is either."

Laughing at my tone, Isadora would tell me that everything is okay. As she spoke her long blonde hair would bristle against the cold wind; her kind eyes were in a dark aquamarine blue color, her nose was slanted like mine, and her skin was in the loveliest shade of baby pink.

For tonight, she wore a dark indigo cotton dress and black heels.  Her lovely makeup suggests that she was going out with her friends, but her lovely dimpled smile said otherwise.

And as for me, I couldn't exactly remember what type of clothes Jacob and I wore for the special occasion.

Did I wear a t-shirt? I wondered. Were my pants too short? Was I barefooted?

Even if it was a long time ago, I could remember traces of my hair slithering down my shoulders. My dark blue eyes would widen at the stars forming images in the sky, and my ears would listen to a catchy indie folk song escaping from the radio's small speakers.

A low, humming voice belonged to a male singer whose fingers plucked the strings of a guitar. Although I couldn't remember what his name was, the song he was singing had a perfect blend of indie, pop, and folk.

One of the things I have shared with my family is indie music. Whenever we were going on a trip, Isadora would search tirelessly on her phone for a catchy song, while Joseph drove us.

The sky was almost the shade of dark violet; as the road suddenly became twisty and narrow. Jacob bobbed his head to the music,  while Isadora and I examine the white specs hovering in the sky.

Our eyes kept scanning for more constellations when I spotted a strange image floating above a cluster of stars.  White specs make up an unusual molecular model, as its visible lines connected the stars—almost like an odd-looking tree if you tilt your head to the right.

Curious, I pointed my finger at the design, then ask Isadora what the molecule's name was.

Glancing at the clear window to her left, Isadora examined the constellation that I was pointing, then stated that it was a Sagittarius.

"Satti—what?"

"Sagittarius," Isadora politely corrected. "I think it's Latin for Archer."

I frown. "What's an archer?"

"Someone who is good with a bow and arrow," explained Isadora, turning her ears away from the alluring music.

"What makes it so important?" I ask.

Isadora thought about it for a moment.

"Well, " she began. "the day you were born, I that constellation was the first thing I saw up in the clouds."

"Really?"

Isadora grinned widely.

"Yeah," she replied. "To most people, it was just some constellation, but to me, it was my lucky charm. Without it, I wouldn't have you, or your older brother, Jacob."

Listening to her gentle words, I thought my mom was the coolest woman in the entire world. But the moment I turned ten years old, Isadora ran off with a bottle of pills and was never heard from again.

Pushing away my mother's face, I released Austin's warm hand, then unbuckled my seatbelt, snatched the purse off of the floor, and got out of the car.

Taking another closer look at the park, I calmly smoothed the wet clumps of my hair down to my back and sighed. When Austin told me that we were going to a funeral, I expected that it would be held in a church or something.

But as I looked around, I didn't see a funeral home or anything that honored the dead. Just a tranquil looking park with no hobos, junkies, or homicidal criminals.

Stepping outside of the SUV,  Austin looked around the scenery in sheer confusion.

"Hey, Mom, " he says in a puzzled tone. "Are you sure this is the place?"

Kristy, who was shutting her car door, nodded in his direction.

"Yeah," she smirked. "This is the funeral."

I try to process it very slowly, but my puzzled eyebrows didn't waver.

"Why is Elle Jones' funeral in a park?" I ask.

"Well, after she died of liver cancer, " began Kristy. "Elle requested that she wanted her funeral to be somewhere in a park, instead of some crowded building."

Slinking her purse strap over her shoulder, Kristy laughs as if I told her a cheesy joke.

"Yeah, that is so Elle." she continued, chuckling. "When we were kids, she hated being in her bedroom."

Austin scrunched his eyebrows at her. "Why?"

"Because Elle hates tight spaces," Kristy replied as a matter of fact. "She prefers the outdoors than just sitting in her bedroom."

Satisfied with her response, my questionable face has eventually subsided.

"Oh, " I said in an understanding tone. "so was she—I try to find the words to describe Elle—outgoing?"

Kristy nodded, as she reached into her bag, pulls out a pink perfume bottle, and sprayed herself.

The flower-scented water flew into the air, collecting the foul stench of cigarette butts and sweat from her arms, legs, and chest.

As soon as she was finished, Kristy dropped the bottle into her purse, then with the help of her car keys, she locked her red SUV's doors, and continued East.

Meanwhile, Austin and I tread behind Kristy like a negligent puppy; The cool air tickled my warm skin as goosebumps ascended on my bare arms.

Shivering, I shook like a fragile leave coming down from its tree branch. My eyes were starting to grow water in them, my nose is numb, and my ears are tensed from the crickets' loud song.

Being a polite gentleman, Austin takes note in this, as he slithers his black coat from his firm arms, then gently threw it over my shoulders.

"Here, " he says quietly. "you need this more than I do."

Shyly, I slide my arms through his warm, black coat then said, "Thank you" to Austin, who hadn't pay attention to the cold.

Our lazy feet continued walking until they reached into the carpet of grass blades. One by one, we forced them to march past the towering trees.

"Just keep heading East, " Kristy advised, "the funeral should be around here somewhere."

Austin, who wasn't a fan of exercise, moaned loudly, "why do we have to walk?"

I looked at him a scolding way.

"Walking can take us to the funeral faster." I say, strolling behind Kristy.

"And besides, we have been in the car for almost an hour. Don't you want to spread your legs?"

Appalled, Austin shakes his head.

"I'd rather ride in a smelly SUV than walk." he grumbled.

"Sourpuss," I muttered.

"Shut up, Jack." said Austin, waddling across the grass like a drunk penguin. "At least I am walking."

Rolling my eyes, I continued walking. My shoes were covered in dirt and dead leaves, but I didn't care.

I was more concerned about us getting to the funeral.

Although we were tired, hungry, and freezing, Kristy, Austin, and I resumed our pilgrimage searching for Elle's distant relatives or friends when a fifty-year-old woman with short white hair, blue eyes, a long, frivolous black gown, and black heels came towards Kristy.

Looking at her, I noticed that her height had reached above Kristy's shoulder.

Pink blush, concealer, and lipstick painted the woman's face, but not enough to get rid of the oily substance on her ghastly cheeks.

Regardless, Kristy smiled at the woman, opened her arms wide, and gave her a warm hug.

"We're sorry, we're late."  Kristy chuckled in embarrassment.

The woman frowned. "Why, what happened?"

"Traffic jam is a bitch," Austin replied. "That's what happened."

"Austin!" Kristy hissed.

He casually shrugged his shoulders. "What, Mom? It's the fucking truth."

Even though she was surprised by her response, the old lady brushes it off like it was nothing.

"Ugh, relatable." she agreed, whispering back. "There was this one time I took my five-year-old grandson to the World Series stadium, but I had to deal with—"

The old lady instantly stops herself when she saw that none of us were interested in her story.

"Oh, my!" she crooned. "You all are here for the funeral?"

Kristy nodded solemnly.

"Yes," she says firmly. "we came all this way just to say goodbye to her."

Surprised, yet earnest, the old lady said, "I will take you to the funeral. Although it might almost be over, it's worth a try."