The Road Not Taken

I wish that we had never driven along that road. if only we had chosen the scenic road instead of the shortest, she would still be alive. If only we had the money to fly on a plane instead of drive, she would still be here.

"Let's go the shorter way." That's what my sister said. "I'm tired, and i've seen enough trees today." If only she hadn't complained, our mother would still be alive.

Reluctantly, my mother agreed. Although she herself had wanted to travel along the scenic road, she always thought of us first. If only she had put her foot down, just once, she would still be here.

My mother stared wistfully out of the car's window, wondering if she could perhaps catch a glimpse of the mountains, standing tall, unaware of the icy snow that rested upon their flanks.

But all she could do was wish as our father turned the wheel, and our old Commodore obeyed and turned sleepily to the right, not left.

If only it had broken down there, at the fork in the road, she would still be alive. But our old Commodore chugged along faithfully. For a while. But then our Commodore’s brakes decided that they were tired. And they went to sleep.

Dad yelled when he realised. The road was slippery and brakes were essential. Then my sister started panicking. So did I. But our mother stayed calm.

After that, the steering wheel noticed that the brakes were sleeping. It chucked a tantrum. It wouldn’t obey my father. The car spun around, tires screeching, the world a blur. Another car came around the corner.

It collided with the front passenger seat, if only it hadn’t come around.

Maybe then my mother would still be here, would still be alive, would still be here with us.

If only…