"That’ll be three dollars, hun," the toll lady said to me, perkily. I cringed, not wanting to deal with perkiness at the moment. I looked at her blankly. She was probably in her late forties, with red hair that was obviously dyed and huge wire-rimmed glasses. She was slightly overweight and had that "middle-aged mom" look to her. I rummaged through my wallet and gave her my three dollars.

"Something the matter, hun? You look a little down in the dumps," she commented, maternal instincts kicking in.

"No, I’m just dandy," I replied emotionlessly. "Can I go, or what?"

She looked at me unsurely, as if she was about to say more.

"Look, lady, I’m fine. I’ve got somewhere I need to be, and the people behind me are starting to get pissed off," I snapped, pointing to the cars behind me.

She shrugged and pressed a button, raising the toll arm. I started over the bridge.

And I was just fine, dammit. Just la-di-freakin’-da fine. I mean, sure, my little sister had just been killed in a hit-and-run accident, but I was taking it well.

Well enough, anyway. I didn’t collapse into bursts of crying like my mom. I didn’t sit in my chair all day and stare blankly in despair like my dad. I didn’t sit in the basement and kick back some vodka until I knocked myself unconscious like my brother. I just kept myself busy. I poured myself into whatever activity was at hand, whether work, school, cleaning, whatever. I kept my mind too busy to think about her. When time came for sleep, I made sure I took some sleep aids, unwilling to face that time just before you nod off, when all you can do is lie there and think.

I had become an emotional void.

I shook my head. I was thinking. Thinking was bad. I focused my attention on driving. Driving was good. I could focus my entire mind on driving and not drift into other thoughts. All there was in the universe was you, the car, and the road.

Which was why I became so alarmed when the traffic stopped. The cars were stopped from about a quarter of the way down the bridge all the way to the end. My mind started to drift, drift towards where I was heading… I shook my head and looked out the window.

All around me stood the vast, dull green superstructure of the bridge. It really was an ugly color, and here it was, standing out massively against the skyline. Disgusted, I looked down to gaze at the river. Its green-brown waters were flowing away from me, reminding me of bile. Rusted boats sailed through and docked in rusting shipyards. Amidst all this ugliness, I looked up, hoping to see the radiant beauty of the sun.

It wasn’t there.

A heavy grey haze had settled across the sky, allowing only dim rays of light to shine through. The sunlight looked sickly, a pale yellow struggling to be seen. Even the air outside my car was dirty. A rickety bus in front of me was spewing exhaust into the air.

There was no light, only haze.

No emotion, only emptiness.

The freakin’ traffic wasn’t moving.

I began to feel extremely pissed off. Not at the traffic, mind you. I didn’t really want to get off the bridge, didn’t want to have to go to my sister’s funeral and face emotions that I wasn’t ready to deal with.

Yet, I was feeling something now, and it felt good. Pure unbridled rage. At the bastard who killed her, at me, at the world. I wanted to break something, cause some destruction, find a release for my feelings.

I would kill him if I ever found him. I wouldn’t make it quick either. No bullets to the head, no knife to the heart. I would beat the hell out of him a little, enjoy the experience, savor every second. I’d probably go to hell, but I don’t care. I need revenge, here, now.

I looked out my window again. It would be kinda fun to kill him on the bridge. Take him to the highest support, beat him a little, then hold him over the edge. He’d probably beg for his life, scream like a little girl. He never gave my sister that chance. I’d laugh at him and spit in his face, then send him hurtling to his death. And not over water, oh no. I’d send him flying toward the street, down into the traffic. His last few moments would drag on forever in an eternity of terror.

My anger was not confined to that yellow bastard either. I was quite pissed at myself, you see. She was my little sister. I was supposed to protect her, then here came this son of a bitch who comes out of nowhere and kills her. I couldn’t even have helped her after she was hit. The doctors said she died on impact.

I wasn’t exactly sure if she knew how much I cared about her either. We weren’t close in the way that you’d think of as siblings being close. We made fun of each other all the time. I’d tease her, she’d tease me back. It was like a battle of wits and we both enjoyed it.

Maybe I didn’t say I loved her as much as I should have. Maybe she didn’t know how much she meant to me.

Maybe I didn’t know how she meant to me.

I could feel the tears begin to gather in my eyes. I remembered all the times we spent together. How we’d open presents up on Christmas Day. How we’d make fun of the old people at Thanksgiving. How we tried to catch the Easter Bunny with a carrot trap. How she got mad at me when I’d break her Barbies. How we’d make a sled out of a clothes basket and go sliding down the stairs. How she’d make me soup if I was sick. How I hated her first boyfriends. How I drove her to the hospital when she broke her arm.

The tears blurred my eyes, sending the world into a mix of sea green, light yellow, and blue. Suddenly everything around me was less ugly. It was beautiful, beautiful in the way that the trees were in winter. It was sad, yet unquestioningly beautiful.

I realized that I had a lot to say to my sister. I looked forward to the funeral with a mixture of trepidation and urgency. I had to be there. I had to pay my respects. I had to get some things off my chest after everyone had left.

I wiped my eyes and looked up as the cars in front me started to move. Part of me wanted to surge forward over the bridge, while another part wanted to go back. With a heavy sigh, I pushed down on the accelerator and drove ahead.

As I drove, I managed to get my wallet out of my back pocket. At the next red light, I unfolded it and pulled out her picture. It was taken during her junior year. They didn’t send her senior ones yet. She had long black hair that hung down to her shoulders. Her sky blue eyes seemed full of life and vitality. Her smile was wide and genuine. She was always a happy person.

I flipped over the picture and read the back.