There were bright lights that cold, frosty December night. They flickered in the windows of the car and I dazed half-asleep at the glow of the city’s neon signs. There were big buildings, towering over our small car like giant Sycamore trees and I stared, half-asleep, at the urban beauty of it. New York at night was buildings tipped with bright lights, fuzzy at the edges from my flittering eyelids. The steady sound of the engine almost lulled me to sleep, but I fought violently to keep my eyes from closing, despite the fact that they felt like heavy weights.

My sister was curled up next to me, already deep into slumber and my parents sat in the front seats, they communicated silently by the touch of their hands, words flowing through like electricity trapped in a telephone wire.

Peering through my half-open eyes I saw the world, touched with glossy glows and vibrant colors and struggled to keep my eyelids open, appealing to this new world that presented itself so vividly.

I sat there, staring, gazing, watching, and eventually my eyelids closed, the weights lifted, and I succumbed to the whispers of sleep, fading into the soft sounds of city life.