Where the Dust Goes
It’s 8 a.m. You’ve dropped the kids at school and you’re on your way home when this crazy blur of squirrel runs onto Allen Drive. You don’t hear a thing. Instead, you feel him. A small bounce of the car, a tiny jolt, and now he’s just a bump under your wheel, his frantic squirrel...
Scream
Something is wrong. I am lying on the ice. It is mid February, a year and one month since the accident. I have not yet screamed. That will come. It will come when it comes when I have lost control of everything—completely at the mercy of my body. It will come as a shock as...