Glass turned to dust all around us.
Two voices crying out. A third silent.
We were so happy until all the sound disappeared and time folded in on itself.
I try to shake it off but the taste of blood and bile fill my mouth.
My hand is shaking but I clench around the shot glass before anyone notices.
Someone calls Uno.
My mother deals another round. “Tek-ah, are you listening?” she asks.
I nod, but my ears are ringing.
Carey nudges my foot under the table. “You good?”
I shoot him a look that saysobviously not, but you can’t help.
His head drops, but I’m not his fucking carer.
My life was fucked up long before he ever came into it.
13 years ago
Eugene, Oregon
1:37 a.m.
Empty. Hollow. Silent. Blackness.
There’s nothing…
Then there’s pain. In my head… In my hands… My chest… My legs…
Sound is next, like a spiralling relentless whir. The horn. The rain. Everything is buzzing like the wrong frequency on an old TV.
I taste blood.
Gasoline and scorched rubber burn my nose.
I cough. My body fights. But the pain in my ribs is like a dozen knives stabbing my lungs.
I tell myself to open my eyes, to prove this is all a dream by waking up in our bed. But as I blink, I don’t see the blue walls or the blankets pulled high around my chin, I see a pulsing redlight, a deployed airbag in my face, and blood clouding my vision.
I don’t remember the impact. I remember the sound, though; as loud as a thunderclap going off inside my ear drums.
My arms move. At least I think they do. They’re slow and rubbery, like I’m forcing my way through thick mud. I claw at the air bag with one hand, moving it away enough to see the dash board has caved in and I can’t see my legs. My knees are jammed somewhere beneath the glove box and there’s so much pressure on them it feels like I’m being split in two.
The windshield’s gone and the streetlight is reflecting off all the shards stabbed into the dashboard and seat.
I try to reach for the door but my right hand won’t listen. I grab it with my left and bring it into view. There’s a blade of broken plastic speared straight through my palm, and I’m bleeding in long syrupy ropes.
What happened? What went wrong?
She had one hand on the wheel, the other on my thigh, tracing circles on my knee while she sang along to the radio; off-key, loud, and full of life.
Then something breaks through the static.
