Start With One, a short story
August 3, 2005
My biggest regret is that I took it all for granted. Every hour, every minute. If things had turned out different, then I might have been able to salvage some part of my soul.
But I didn’t, and so I ended up here.
Thinking back, I wish that I could do it over. That day was a hot August afternoon, humid enough to make the very air stick to your skin. I had been desperate for an excuse to escape the house, filled with hot air despite the windows being thrown wide open. The reason didn’t matter, because I just needed a relief from the air cocooning me.
That’s how I ended up with a $250 lamp braces against my leg, my mother rocketing down Highway 26 like there was a stampede behind us. “Can’t you go a little slower?” I complained, feeling the lampshade digging into my left leg.
“Sera, don’t talk to me right now. I’m driving,” my mother said sternly.
I scoffed, not understanding the reason for such a ridiculous comment. My mother had never said that before; our conversations were loud, filled with debate about anything and everything. “What does that have to do with anything?” I snapped.
Not paying attention for a fraction of a second, barreled past Exit 53. My mother swore and slammed her fist against the wheel, causing the horn to blare at an old white guy in front of us. “Crap, that was our exit. Now we’ll have to go through South Shore.” She sighed.
South Shore was the worst part of our neighborhood. It wasn’t as bad as Los Angeles, but I still felt a shiver go up my spine.
“Can’t we just drive past it on the highway?” I asked, feeling the worry in my voice beginning to rise. “It’ll be a lot safer.”
The irritated sigh coming from the front seat put my entire body on edge. My mom, the woman behind the wheel, wasn’t even looking at me. “South Shore isn’t that dangerous, Serafina,” she replied. The words came out clipped, completely cut off from emotion. The frosty attitude behind them stunned me.
“I’m not saying it is,” I argued back, “but I don’t feel safe going through South Shore. It’s not a good idea.”
Starting then, several things seemed to happen simultaneously. There was so much to absorb that, even several weeks later, I would still be realizing new details.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shiny metallic shape barreling towards us. Weaving in and out of the traffic, a chorus of blaring car horns seemed to be almost chasing it. In slow motion, I watched as the car went to ram front first into our own.
The impact sent our car skidding, turning around and around until I was seeing double everything. When it stopped, I could hear nothing more than the sound of my ears ringing. How much time passed before I was finally rescued from that wreck, I didn’t know.
“Out of the way! Miss, can you hear me? Easy now...” the voice belonged to an EMT, but my brain was too fogged to keep words from slipping through the cracks. Slowly, everything fades into black, and I see no more.
Beep, beep.
Everything is darkness. Slowly, I began to feel again.
“What happened?” I managed to ask, prying my eyes open. How long I had been unconscious, I didn’t know. In one corner sat a dark-skinned man, head resting on his hand. Upon hearing my voice, he sat up and lookEd at me.
“Serafina, I’m Detective Okino. What do you remember?” He asked. Picking up a plastic bottle of water, the detective handed it to me. With shaking hands, I took a sip.
“Remember... I remember the car,” I said carefully. “My mom and I were arguing. There was a car that came from the wrong direction, and a lot of people had to swerve out of the way.”
My biggest regret is that I took it all for granted. Every hour, every minute. If things had turned out different, then I might have been able to salvage some part of my soul.
But I didn’t, and so I ended up here.
Thinking back, I wish that I could do it over. That day was a hot August afternoon, humid enough to make the very air stick to your skin. I had been desperate for an excuse to escape the house, filled with hot air despite the windows being thrown wide open. The reason didn’t matter, because I just needed a relief from the air cocooning me.
That’s how I ended up with a $250 lamp braces against my leg, my mother rocketing down Highway 26 like there was a stampede behind us. “Can’t you go a little slower?” I complained, feeling the lampshade digging into my left leg.
“Sera, don’t talk to me right now. I’m driving,” my mother said sternly.
I scoffed, not understanding the reason for such a ridiculous comment. My mother had never said that before; our conversations were loud, filled with debate about anything and everything. “What does that have to do with anything?” I snapped.
Not paying attention for a fraction of a second, barreled past Exit 53. My mother swore and slammed her fist against the wheel, causing the horn to blare at an old white guy in front of us. “Crap, that was our exit. Now we’ll have to go through South Shore.” She sighed.
South Shore was the worst part of our neighborhood. It wasn’t as bad as Los Angeles, but I still felt a shiver go up my spine.
“Can’t we just drive past it on the highway?” I asked, feeling the worry in my voice beginning to rise. “It’ll be a lot safer.”
The irritated sigh coming from the front seat put my entire body on edge. My mom, the woman behind the wheel, wasn’t even looking at me. “South Shore isn’t that dangerous, Serafina,” she replied. The words came out clipped, completely cut off from emotion. The frosty attitude behind them stunned me.
“I’m not saying it is,” I argued back, “but I don’t feel safe going through South Shore. It’s not a good idea.”
Starting then, several things seemed to happen simultaneously. There was so much to absorb that, even several weeks later, I would still be realizing new details.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shiny metallic shape barreling towards us. Weaving in and out of the traffic, a chorus of blaring car horns seemed to be almost chasing it. In slow motion, I watched as the car went to ram front first into our own.
The impact sent our car skidding, turning around and around until I was seeing double everything. When it stopped, I could hear nothing more than the sound of my ears ringing. How much time passed before I was finally rescued from that wreck, I didn’t know.
“Out of the way! Miss, can you hear me? Easy now...” the voice belonged to an EMT, but my brain was too fogged to keep words from slipping through the cracks. Slowly, everything fades into black, and I see no more.
Beep, beep.
Everything is darkness. Slowly, I began to feel again.
“What happened?” I managed to ask, prying my eyes open. How long I had been unconscious, I didn’t know. In one corner sat a dark-skinned man, head resting on his hand. Upon hearing my voice, he sat up and lookEd at me.
“Serafina, I’m Detective Okino. What do you remember?” He asked. Picking up a plastic bottle of water, the detective handed it to me. With shaking hands, I took a sip.
“Remember... I remember the car,” I said carefully. “My mom and I were arguing. There was a car that came from the wrong direction, and a lot of people had to swerve out of the way.”
I could hear the sounds, an invisible speaker seemingly hovering next to my left ear. All at once, the memories came flooding back.
“My mother,” I gasped, the words choking somewhere in my throat. “What happened to my mother? Where is she? I need to see her!”
I swung my legs over the hospital bed’s edge, but the detective stopped me from moving towards the doorway. Seeing the expression on his face, something in my heart cracked.
“No,” I gasped, the words coming out in broken, ragged edges. “No!”
My body was shaking so hard, I could barely focus on anything in front of me. The police officer called for the nurse, who hauled me back into bed.
Darkness overtook me.
Two weeks later
I wasn’t supposed to be up and about yet, but I had insisted on coming to this. Eventually, the doctors relented, but I didn’t care. The battery of tests after today was a small price to pay for saying goodbye to my mother.
The cemetery was in Florida, near the Kennedy Space Center. My mother had grown up within walking distance of the building, and now she was going to be returned to her childhood home. The warm air felt heavy on my skin, but I didn’t care. The feeling was a distraction.
My black dress, light and loose, brushed against the casket as I placed a red rose there. Roses are- were- my mother’s favorite flower. We wanted to at least honor her this way.
A petal fell from a rose as another person placed one on the casket. The last one to go was my father, now in custody of me and my two brothers. All three looked ill-fitting in their tuxedos, somehow.
Reaching out to my little brother Thomas, I grasped his hand. “It’ll be ok,” I whispered.
And somehow, I believed it.
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