Wrigley Spearmint: Two in One Pack By Ameerah Saker   He was the only thing I knew from that land my father had told me about- that he told me was desert with sun burning the skin, palm trees with long stalks and flapping fronds. Shallow pools called oases were scattered within the midst of grains of sand. We called him Uncle Jason, but I didn’t learn until later that he was not my Uncle. He visited every once in a while. Without calling, his beaten up car would roll up the hill to our colonial house. Seeing his tiny blue car drive up our curved driveway, I would jump up in excitement, my little feet pattering against the floor as I danced my way over to my father’s side. I would inform him of our guest and hide away, hearing the door open and voices of greeting echoing through the house.            During one of these visits, my brother and I performed our very best stunt as the trouble twins. Out of all those old memories, this one stands out. It is the peak of our mini acts of childhood willfulness and the most scary and comical.  It was a nice day with the sun out and a light wind blowing through that was just powerful enough to rustle the grass tips in one direction. Uncle Jason acknowledged us with a mere “Hello” in his accented, choppy English, before switching to the smooth and flowing Arabic I couldn’t decipher. My brother and I became impatient, waiting for the usual treats of mints or gum given to us during every visit. My father and uncle sat themselves into their chairs, syllables like music escaping their lips, clucking and combining sounds I had never heard before. They seemed content, speaking the words that flowed like the water that trickles down the mountain and into a thriving hand. As soon as the two men were immersed in their conversation, my brother and I scurried away towards the blue car.          We entered the musty vehicle, plopping ourselves down on the maroon colored seats and watching the dust poof up and shimmer, revealing itself within the slips of light escaping through the window. Zach searched in the front seat, looking through all the rubbish, inspecting the floor and fiddling with handles. I crawled around in the passenger seat, riffling through the glove compartment and junk lying around.         Suddenly, the car started moving backwards from its perch atop our driveway. My brother and I didn't really realize it until we were already part way down, seeing our surroundings pass by us at an increasing speed. I don’t remember seeing anything, just experiencing everything. Jarringly, gravity pulled our car in a backwards turn. The car stopped for a single moment and Zach jumped out, abandoning me. It then continued forward, crossing over the pavement horizontally. The bark of a tall pine tree stared in front of me, only moments away. What they say is true, about how our body will do anything to survive. How you will just shut down, and your thoughts will just disappear. It is all instinct. You don’t even have to think. You just do.         My body hit the tar as I rolled out. I don’t remember the pain. I don’t even remember the immediate smack of bark hitting metal, but I do remember seeing the squished up front of his car against the tree.  Without thinking, Zach and I ran up the driveway to where our uncle and father stood, their mouths moving fast. All four of us stood in front of the white garage doors. The two adults stared down at the car- one more toy that we hadn‘t cleaned up. I don’t remember any emotion on their faces. Clairvoyantly, my brother and I simultaneously said, “We’re sorry! We’ll be up in our rooms!” In fright, we sprinted away, our feet pounding against the brick path, our arms pumping.