Promises, Promises
I remember it like it was yesterday, is such a cliché, but I do remember it that way. I will always remember it. If I sleep too long or too much or too little the memory comes back in technicolor. There isn’t anything I can do to wake myself. My heart pumps away fluid, lub-dubbing me into paralysis. A sudden screech of all-terrain tires fills my chest with fire. I’m thrown forward and back in the passenger’s seat. The impact of his truck careening into two parked cars traps me in the mangled aluminum and plastic of the door.
The windshield and passenger side window are spiderwebs of broken glass. On the passenger’s side there is a daub of flesh in the center of the glass cobweb crying tears of crimson. Looking at it I wonder where the blood came from. Then something runs warm and thick into my eye. I try to wipe it away with my right hand but I can’t.
“IgottadoIgottadothisIgottadothis,” Davey says. “This is what Mama wants.”
He’s repeating a mantra to steel his nerves. I lie my head back on the headrest and roll it towards him. I’m dull as a butter knife. I think I say “No, don’t,” but I’m not heard. When I try to move there’s the sense I’ve left a part of me behind. Something’s wrong with my arm. I roll my head to the right. I look down at this limb and I know it’s broken. This arm feels like Jell-O and the sense of its…
