A Shattered Moment (Fractured Lives 1)

It was Jessica screaming after the semitruck slammed into the side of the Suburban that will be forever burned into my mind like a bad song that refused to go away. The oversized advertisement for fresh strawberries that ran the length of the trailer was the last thing that appeared upright after Zach jerked the wheel to avoid another collision. I would later learn that our momentum combined with the impact from the trailer were the culprits for what happened next.

With the horrific grinding sound of metal against metal and the sickening smell of burning rubber, the wheels on the right side of the Suburban left the road, sending us airborne. I had heard once that when you’re in an accident, everything passes in a blur of slow motion. That is total bullshit. It’s instant chaos. Fast and scary are more accurate—and loud. So loud you feel like your ears will burst. So hectic you can’t tell where sounds are coming from. It’s a jumbled mess of groaning metal beat out of its original shape, shattering glass, blaring horns, and worst of all, screams of pain from your friends. And yet, through it all, I remember every detail with painstaking lucidity.

“How could you possibly know how many times the vehicle rolled?” That is always the first question asked when I recount the series of events for someone. It was a question that haunted me as well. It was as if I was being cosmically punished for some wrong I had committed. If I knew what it was, I would take it all back. I would trade places with any of my friends over being forever tormented by vivid memories that I could never escape. Each roll of the vehicle was significant by what it did to my friends. The first roll sent Tracey’s head against her window with a thud. The second roll abruptly silenced Dan, who had been swearing from the moment Jessica started screaming. Kat shrieked Dan’s name in anguish, overpowering Jessica’s screams during the third bone-crunching roll of the vehicle. On the fourth roll, Jessica’s screams stopped like someone had flipped a switch. I panicked, believing at any moment my last breath would be snuffed out like the flame of a candle.

We stopped on the fifth roll, finally coming to a rest mid-turn, leaving us upside down. The bench seat Zach and I shared tore away from the metal bolts that attached it to the floorboard and tumbled forward, pinning me to the dashboard. My head exploded with pain as it bounced off the windshield. I vaguely remember wondering why an airbag hadn’t opened. It turns out the old Suburban that Zach had been given by his parents was a year away from that upgrade. A steady hum filled my ears. It was as if I had been swaddled in a cocoon of cotton. I felt absolutely nothing.

one

Mac

one year later

“No, Mom, not this weekend,” I said, rolling my eyes at the phone even though she couldn’t see me. “I have a big test next week in sociology. I have to stay and study.” I sank down on the dorm room bed, which was adjusted to the perfect height for my bum leg.

“But, Mackenzie, you haven’t been home in ages.”

“Mac,” I corrected automatically.

She sighed, but didn’t comment on my correction. I had decided to change my name over a year ago, after the accident. For a while, she protested, which

led to the same argument so many times, I could recite it word for word. I think she assumed I would eventually get sick of the shortened version or that if she ignored it and continued to call me by my full name, I would concede and “come to my senses,” as she would say. I could have told her not to hold her breath, but that would be like telling her I was fine, which was pointless because my mom had selective hearing. She didn’t understand what I had endured and probably never would.

I only half listened as she rattled out all the reasons I should come home for the weekend. My eyes drifted to the other side of the room that belonged to my dorm mate, Trina. I noticed her belongings were slowly beginning to disappear. It was no secret she was unhappy living with me. She had certain expectations for a college roommate, like occasional conversation, some exchanged pleasantries, maybe even a friendly smile once in a while. What she got instead was mostly silence mixed with shrugs, an occasional grunt, and a half-darkened room because I usually turned off my lamp at 9 p.m. each night and pretended to be asleep, even if I wasn’t really tired. She put up with it for a while, but eventually gave up trying to coax me out of my shell.

None of it was her fault, of course. I just wasn’t ready to be anyone’s friend. That was my mistake when I convinced my parents I would be better off living in the dorms than making the forty-five-minute commute from home for classes each day like I had done freshman year. I thought I was ready to interact, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I wished I could find the words to explain myself to Trina, but I couldn’t seem to muster up enough emotion to care.

Mom broke through my thoughts when she switched the conversation to where it inevitably always ended up—the accident. I wondered if we would ever have a normal conversation again. She droned on about the letter that had come in from the law firm that was handling everything for the victims. That’s how we were referred to now—the victims. A full year had passed and the insurance companies were still dragging their feet, not allowing anyone involved to move on. They had proven to be complete scumbags. I couldn’t care less about the money or who was suing who. All I wanted was to be able to have a conversation with my parents without the words “victims” or “lawyers” or “insurance claims.”

I waited until she took a breath in between sentences. “Mom, I can’t talk about this now, okay? I’ll come home in a couple weeks. I really do need to study for my test.”

“Maybe your father and I can drive up to take you to dinner.”

This time it was my turn to sigh. I understood why she pushed so hard. Hell, for a long time after everything that happened, I needed her. I had become afraid of the dark. Closing my eyes meant reliving images that were too painful to remember. Mom spent many nights during my recovery sleeping in my hospital room in a backbreaking chair that converted into a narrow bed. Through it all she never complained. She was my rock. It was only after I left the hospital that I began to resent the constraints of having her around. At that point, everything was dictated for me. Therapy for my leg, follow-up visits with doctors, and weekly appointments with the psychiatrist were all scheduled for me. I had no say in anything. I knew my parents were only trying to help, but I felt smothered.

“Honey, are you listening?” Mom’s voice broke through my reverie.

“Yeah, Mom,” I lied. I didn’t have a clue what she had said.

“Okay, so we’ll pick you up tomorrow evening at five for Olive Garden, and then maybe afterward we can even see a movie. There’s that new romantic comedy with the guy from that Disney show you used to like.”

“You mean the show I haven’t watched since I was twelve? You do know I’m an adult now, right, Mom?” I pulled the phone away from my ear and silently screamed at it. “Look, my test is really important and—”

“I know, honey, but you have to eat, and taking two hours to relax while you watch a movie should be allowed. I realize you wanted to live on campus for some space, but it’s still just college, not jail.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my argument?” I asked dryly. “A little space.”

I used the cane I had developed a love-hate relationship with, to rise from my bed. I absolutely hated being dependent on it, but I couldn’t deny its necessity. The hard truth was I would probably need it for the rest of my life. The surgeons had done everything in their power to fix my leg. In the end, despite having more hardware than the Bionic Woman, it was still a mess.

“How’s the leg?” Mom asked like she was hot-wired into my brain.

“Fine.” We all knew it wasn’t anywhere close to fine, but when she asked, what else was I going to say? At least I could walk. I was lucky in comparison to my friends. I jerked my thoughts back before they could stroll down that agony-filled path again. “Look, Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.”

“And a movie,” she persisted before I could hang up.

“We’ll see,” I said reluctantly. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweets.”