“Shut up, Hailey,” she says, putting us in motion.
I suck in air at the harsh words that do not fit my mother, who is not just beautiful, but graceful in her actions and words. Perfect, actually, and everything I aspire to be. I click my belt while her warning continues to go off. She turns us onto the highway and I listen to the warning going off, trying to fill the blank space in my head with answers I can give her. But there are none and suddenly she lets out a choked sound and hits the brakes. My eyes jolt open, but everything is spinning. We’re spinning. I can’t see or move. “Mom!” I shout, I think. Or maybe I don’t. Glass shatters. I feel it on my face, cutting me, digging into my skin.
We jolt again, no longer spinning, but the world goes black.
Time is still.
And then there are sirens and I try to catch my breath, but my chest hurts so badly. “Mom,” I whisper, turning to look at her but she’s not there. She’s not there. Panic rises fast and hard and I unhook my belt and ball my fist at my aching chest. Forcing myself to move, I sit up to find my mother on the hood of the car, a huge chunk of steel through her body.
I scream and I can’t stop screaming. I can’t stop screaming.