This isn't weird.

Well, What Do You Know?

"We should take my truck," Molly called, leaning heavily on her cane as she shuffled along the gravel driveway. She was trying and failing to keep up.

Millie, already reaching for the door handle of her own car, turned to look at the needlessly large silver pick-up truck parked alongside it. "Ugh, are you kidding? I can't handle something that big."

"That's what she said," Molly replied. "Your car is too small. The seats are cramped. It hurts to bend my legs that much."

"Damn it, Molly," Millie groaned. "Fine, okay. But don't blame me if I get us both killed. We'll be lucky if I can even see over the steering wheel in that thing."

"I'm an inch shorter than you and I manage just fine."

"I hate you."

It was easier to get Molly up into the passenger seat than Millie expected. She had expected the height to be a problem, but she had only to give her sister a small boost, and Molly pulled herself up with relative ease.

Climbing up into the driver's seat, Millie proved less graceful; her foot slipped when she was halfway up. She fall straight backwards, landing flat on her back on the gravel. She could hear Molly's hysterical laughter from the ground.

"I hate you," Millie muttered again. She pushed herself back up, and made another attempt to clamber her way into the driver's seat. This time, she was successful.

"You all right, sis?" Molly giggled.

"Fuck you, Molly."

"Fuck me? Fuck you!"

"Fuuuck y—oh, come on, Molly, seriously? Stick shift?"

"What's the problem? You can drive stick."

"No, I can't!"

"What are you talkin' about? You drove a manual all through highschool."

"That was more than ten years ago," Millie replied. "I do not remember."

"Ugh, you dumb shit. Go on, start her up, I'll talk you through it."

"This is fucking stupid. Fine, but don't forget this was your idea."

"You have to press the clutch."

"I hate you."

Millie managed to start the engine on the second try, but once they were on the road, Molly quickly came to regret her insistence. For the first leg of the trip, she was forced to endure dozens of abrupt, lurching stops as Millie struggled to remember which gears to use when. The thwarted inertia of each sudden halt jerked Molly's body back and forth against her seatbelt and left her body aching.

"You wanted this," Millie grumbled when her sister had the audacity to complain.

After a few very slow miles, Millie found her bearings and their trip continued on (relatively) smoothly. Despite the uncomfortable start to their journey, Molly couldn't help but be in high spirits. It was the first time in five months that she'd left the house for anything other than medical appointments, and a visit to a mysterious bookstore was a far more exciting first outing than she ever could have imagined for herself. She idly scanned through radio stations, inadvertently torturing her sister with the sporadic snippets of tejano and sports commentary that clawed their way through the sibilant whirr that dominated the airwaves.

"For fuck's sake, Molly, would you leave it alone?" Millie griped. "The white noise is grating as all hell."

"Alright, alright," Molly said, tuning it back to the one reliable station in range. Millie was placated, tapping her fingertips against the steering wheel in time with the first chorus of Mrs. Robinson. They both hummed along, and for a minute or so, all was well.