Mountains on the Moon/A Weekly Series

 

09/02/2002

Prologue

She knew that she was driving too fast, but at the moment, she really didn’t give a damn. She raced along the streets of the city, darting in and out of lanes, sitting on the horn whenever someone didn’t move out of her way just fast enough. Checking her rearview, she dared a cop to try and stop her because she knew that she wouldn’t.

Splitting up—that’s all he ever talks about in the midst of every argument—no matter how trite. Tears made tracks down her face, creating dark blue dots on her faded blue-jeaned thighs. She hit the steering wheel once, twice, three times. She just kept hearing his words: We just don’t get along. The age difference is really showing and… blah, blah, blah.

Well, screw him, if he thinks he’s going to get rid of me that easily, she screamed in her head. If he were going to leave her for another woman or for any reason at all, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

Rushing through the second red light, she checked her side view and wondered—Where in the hell are all the cops today? It’s Labor Day. There are a lot of crazies driving the street, she laughed to herself sarcastically. Just then, while in the middle of the intersection, an old rusty Ford screeched its tires, trying to come to a halt but failing. The Infiniti she was driving was no match for the ‘82 pick-up—flipping once, twice, three times—finally coming to a stop on its roof. Wheels spinning like an old turntable. She lied trapped in her seatbelt, thinking of all that she would leave behind, wishing she could take it all back.

As good Samaritans pulled her from the wreckage, the old man right above her head could hear her raspy groans while she struggled to speak.

“Miss, you must save your strength. Someone’s already called an ambulance. You’ll be okay,” the gentleman spoke soothingly in an effort to keep her calm.

She shook her head and tears streamed down her face and then into her opened mouth. The man leaned down to hear her words and was surprised by what she said: “Make sure he knows it’s not his fault.” He assumed she was referring to the driver of the Ford he could hear shouting at the top of his lungs to everyone within range, swearing that he didn’t see her, that she came out of nowhere, and that he gave his best to stop. She tried to continue speaking, but instead, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her eyelids shut.

He stood at the sound of the ambulance, just before her last shed tear hit the pavement.

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4 responses to “Mountains on the Moon/A Weekly Series

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