The burning of my skin as my shirt lifted up and the small of my back scraped against the pavement, tearing off two layers of skin. My shoulders slamming against the curb with enough force to cover my back in bruises and scabs for the next several weeks.
But what happened next I could never have prepared myself for. I imagine that my heart sped up, that my adrenaline did that hormonal-pumping thing it does when it’s trying to brace you for what happens next. The car continued toward me without missing a beat. At some point, I heard Todd’s voice yell out, “Stop!” Then the car plowed into the hockey nets at a speed high enough to crush them beneath the grill.Īnd it didn’t stop there. It kept racing toward me, toward the two hockey nets that Todd McCaffrey had left in the middle of the lot while he went in to fetch more equipment. Me, sort of frozen there, on hands and knees, assuming the car would come to a sudden halt when she saw me. Everything that happened next sped by in what felt like a three-second blur: Gloria Beckham’s car peeling across the parking lot in my direction. But the pair was my favorite, given to me by my mother just months before, on my sixteenth birthday.
I was walking across the parking lot by the gym when my earring slipped off-a hammered sterling-silver hoop with a clasp that never seemed to fit quite right. Ever since, things haven’t quite been the same for me.
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