None of us spoke until we were inside Papi's Volkswagen van. Brand new, lime-green and bought to impress. Oh, we were impressed, but me, every time I was in that VW and Papi went above twenty miles an hour, I vomited. I'd never had trouble with cars before - that van was like my curse. Mami suspected it was the upholstery. In her mind, American things - appliances, mouth-wash, funny-looking upholstery, all seemed to have an intrinsic badness about them. Papi was careful about taking me anywhere in the VW, but when he had to, I rode up in front in Mami's usual seat so I could throw up out a window.