[I thought, briefly, about un-friending Mom today.
Seriously, Mom, you never chat with me anymore and your status updates are so boring!
No. What kind of person un-friends her own mother?
But it is seriously depressing to see her picture pop up in my friend list, or when I mention 'Mom.'
Let's all try avoidance--turns out it's not the best way to deal with things. Change of subject then?
Come on, Beth! Don't write this shit on you blog! They will really think you're crazy then.
No, I'm not crazy. My psychiatrist told me so.]
You want me to tell you a story, don't you? I knew it was coming. There would be that day when all you had to do was look at me, you didn't even have to ask, and the story would spill forth, stumbling upon my nervous lips and tugging at your heartstrings. If only it were that simple this time.
The day was cold. Maybe brisk is a better word. It doesn't matter, really. It was a shitty day. It started like all the rest, me pulling back the curtains to see the damp windowpane, feel the coldness of the glass. Like always, the radio was on, NPR news rambling on in the distant kitchen. But that day it mattered. I moved from the window, choosing a particularly soft sweater, pressing the cashmere to my cheek, turning the blue fabric to my nose as if searching for a scent. It smelled like me, me and my perfume, no one and nothing else. Odd how that one missing scent in your laundry makes this small sweater ritual so difficult.
Once out in the frigid air, I hurried to the car, only to find it caked with frost. I seemed to have forgotten my gloves. There was, nearly a month ago, a gloved scraper in the car. But one day it disappeared. I used an old flip-flop to scrape most of the frost from the windshield and climbed onto the cold leather of the front seat. Please please please start, I thought, turning the key in the ignition. The car started on the third try, and I glanced around to see if there was any traffic. It was early, so early that the sky was just beginning to lighten. I started to back out of the driveway and remembered the radio. I turned the knob as I backed out, increased the volume until I could hear the smooth baritone of the newscaster's voice.
"In today's world news, the shortage of water for the survivors in the latest earthquake--"
The sound of the radio was replaced with the sound of crushing metal and I was suddenly unsure of the world. In that very moment, I became acutely aware of my body and the car, that we were tumbling through the air, and that the airbag was going to smash into my face. I moved unbelievably fast, not even thinking about it, really, turning my face to the side and throwing my arms up simultaneously. It didn't matter. My impossibly fast reflexes protected my face, but the car was rolling and crushing itself against the road. The windshield exploded, showering me with pellets of glass fractions of a moment before something struck my head. And that was it. My eyes wouldn't see right for a moment, everything was red. The car had stopped moving, grinding to a stop on the pavement, leaving me with the last few moments of consciousness, blinded by the blood pouring over my eyes but hearing the scrub of metal and the shrill screams of someone too far away...
[Want more of this story? Or something else? Tune in next time to see what crazy shit I write!]
