My day had been a series of syncapated half steps. A run run run, wait, sort of ordeal. A fingers crossed, under the breath traveler's prayer in the security/baggage line. But when I walked through the doors of Union Station, stranger in tow, my sister was pulling up to the curb. I let the stranger have shotgun and I crawled in the space where back seats usually reside.
We took the stranger and her yoga mat to the Library of Congress and then we commenced. I leaned against the back door, surrounded by tools and paper towels, spare shoes and snacks, stretching my legs. Aubrie was playing some new music she'd heard on Jimmy Fallon. We pause at a stop sign. She harmonizes with Mumford and Sons, cocks her sunglasses and turns, grinning at me. I can feel the sun, bouncing and refracting off of everything, but mostly her red/brown hair. And this one instant, overflows with a thousand things to remember. But mostly, just my sister - sun in her hair, cocking her sunglasses as she grins back at me.
