Breath Ming had her seatbelt on but was managing somehow to slouch in the leather bucket-seat of the sedan. She squirmed a little, loosening the belt's grip, and looked up through the windshield at the sky.

"The trees are turning color," she said, watching them whiz by.

"Yes they are, dear," said her mother, not looking at them but at the street in front of them which wound endlessly through the suburbs, splitting and merging and dissolving into other streets without ever actually ending. Mrs. Ming was a delicate-featured woman in her late thirties, looking only slightly worn and still maintaining a kind of dignified radiance that shone in, among other things, the shiny slickness of her black hair. She was wearing sunglasses that were dark on the top and light on the bottom. "It'll be fall soon and they'll start falling," she added to her daughter who had sunk into a lower slouch and was staring at the ceiling. Breath squirmed again, adjusting the violin she carried in her lap. She no longer appeared to be interested in the trees or in much of anything. She pulled herself up from her slouch, still holding the violin, to look out the side passenger window of the car. She said nothing.

"Mrs. Osten says you need to practice more," continued Mrs. Ming, not looking at her daughter. Up ahead was a red light. Breath turned away from the window and looked at the floor.

"Don't want to." she said.

"But you have to, dear," her mother continued, "or else you'll fall behind. You wouldn't want to fall behind, would you?"

" --- "

"Would you?" Breath was ignoring her mother. The car came to an abrupt halt and idled at the stop light, its engine barely audible but the sensation of movement utterly gone. On the radio was classical music turned down to an insidious volume at which it can be heard, but not listened to. Breath fished in her pockets to see what was there, feeling only an abandoned gum wrapper.

"After I spent all that money buying you that violin ..." her mother was saying, "I'd hate to see you fall behind and not learn it properly. When I was your age, I practiced every day." Mrs. Ming glanced over at the light which directed traffic in the other direction to see if it had turned yellow yet. A drop of rain hit the windshield. Breath looked up at the sky to see where it had come from, seeing only endless dirty white from one horizon to the other.

"Mrs. Osten is a very good teacher, too, Breath. I think you owe it to her," continued Mrs. Ming and pressed down on the accellerator. She didn't see the other car which had slipped through the end of the yellow light and was careening through the intersection towards her.