by Leah Weaber
Time froze. I heard a cry. Or was it a giggle. Like mischief from my early childhood. It lingered and stung my heart the same as regret. Worse still, I couldn’t understand it. Yet I needed to.
Colors and objects were moving much too suddenly to recognize. “Blur” hardly describes what I saw, what I felt. Like the first time behind the wheel of that Chevy pickup, age 16. Enthralling but equally frightening. No, this was different. Horrifying. I was angry with myself, unable to comprehend.
But we were still moving. We! I wasn’t alone. At least not seconds ago. Or was it hours? Time now whirled relentlessly. I had unintentionally forsaken its rules.
Metallic taste. Blood. Just like the taste after that bar fight, in Cincinnati. Over a girl. What, wasn’t over a girl? Unfortunately, I couldn’t avoid the psychos. Until Chelsea. She was an exception. She was worthwhile. She was . . . with me seconds ago.
In the desperate search for my beloved, I spun violently. I’d been airborne. Until the macadam. I heard stone rip through my sweatshirt, flesh, and bones.
Then, time came soaring back into focus. I felt only the fiery presence of blood escaping wounds in my face and body. Excruciating pain. But where was Chelsea?
I don’t know how I found her. She was just there. Thrown from the same Chevy, abused by the same macadam. Miraculously. Alive. As long as I had her, I, too, would live. Without these scars I’d never know it.
3 comments:
I really like the way you froze a moment in time for us. And I love your last sentence, but it almost reads like a double-negative, cancelling out the sentence before, leaving me wondering if he would never know he was alive,or that he had almost died.
I'm a little lost as to what's happening, but I feel the desperate searching entirely.
Poor kids. I hope help arrives soon.
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