Christopher

I remember Christopher's voice. He was whispering something about saving me but his voice was so far away, I couldn't hold on to the words. From the back seat, I could see his eyes in the rear-view-mirrow.





They were glazed over, like he was anyplace at all other than in the car. The windshield wipers skid across the glass with a horrible scream over and over and over again. I remember thinking, "why doesn't he turn them off"--- but my lips couldn't form the words and my voice couldn't power the sound. My cheek pressed hard against the passenger side window. It felt bitter on my raw injured face. I knew I had blacked out. I knew something bad had happened. I knew I had gone too far this time. But I let Christopher have his guilt. It was easier that way