harness, I manage to let myself down
without falling on Kyle. Now that
I’m loose, I can assess our situation.
Not good. The truck is resting on
the driver’s side, nose against a big pine.
I can’t get out that way, and to
exit the passenger door, I’d have
to push it up, over my head, which
would be hard enough without
figuring in the fact that the rollover
smashed it. Maybe the window?
As I work through the logistics,
I hear voices somewhere. “Help!”
I try again. But it becomes obvious
they’re already coming nearer. I lift
my hands so they know someone’s
here. Hang on! We’re coming.
I manage to get the window
open. Strong arms reach down
through it, lift me out. Are you okay?
says the man, who I refuse to let go
of. Just want him to hold me.
Let me cry into his chest. “Help
him,” I stutter. “Please, get him out.”
And please get him out alive.
IT IS COMPLETELY DARK
By the time I see Kyle again.
I am sitting in the warm backseat
of a highway patrol cruiser when
they carry him up over the lip of