The camper van was bought used. The shades were pulled down to block outsiders from looking in. There were a limited number of seat belts. Me, my sisters, my brother, the older cousins, the younger cousins, we squeezed in wherever, even in the crevice behind the backseat, meant to be the trunk. Those of us who could watched SpongeBob on the CRT TV. Saw how the 13-inch cube floated toward the ceiling, then crashed down and broke its wooden compartment. None of us were strapped in, either. Uncle, our babysitter making a shortcut turn, looked back at us. “Everyone okay?”
Kent Truong Ngo is a writer living in Southern California. His many siblings and relatives shaped him to be this way. Visit him @KTruongNgo on Twitter.