‘Stella Ryman and the Curse of Youth’ by Mel Anastasiou

Stella unbuckled her seat belt and moved to the right along the back seat of Riley’s car. Once settled, she fastened her belt. From here she could keep Riley in her line of sight. Riley was proving to be something of a darter in driving style, and she had never respected these swift in-and-out-of-lane drivers who put everybody’s nerves out of whack just to save a moment’s travel. Back in her driving days, she had quietly enjoyed passing a seething darter forced to wait at a left-hand turn. 

Stella peered out of the back passenger window at the moving city, an exceedingly grand view when compared with Fairmount Manor’s sponge-painted walls and wood-tone doors. She had once known these roads on the city’s west side well and now observed a few changes in the expensive section of town they were passing through, mainly pretty houses fenced for demolition. Still, the ornamental cherry trees shaded the streets the way they’d done every May while she’d been among the living and working. She felt a little like an astronaut returning from space, stunned by the relativity of time. She’d been gone for only three months but felt long forgotten by the world. 

She reminded herself that she must try to appreciate the drive. Her mother had been of the generation that enjoyed a car ride, especially on Sundays. If Stella hadn’t been so worried about Thelma, she would have enjoyed this ride far more. She asked Riley the time, and he told her ten thirty. She could hardly believe how little time had passed since breakfast with the Board. Now here she was, on her way to hospital, driving in apparently the opposite direction from Thelma’s ambulance.