I'd had my license 3 days. He was drunk. I'd only been manuevering a car for 6 months. My dad had been hit, on his bike, by a car 2 weeks before. Broken bones, shredded skin, a spaghetti bike. I was 4 blocks from home.
I turned left at the green light and there was a man and a bicycle on my hood.
I thought it was my dad.
Officer Heart administered the breathalizer. Officer Heart. I didn't start crying and blathering incoherently until I saw his name tag.
I'm still to blame, but there's one drunken bicyclist I didn't kill.
Erika and Sarameg -- wow those are both punches to the gut.
Oh, it's nice to see drabbles again.
I love erika's ability to wrap heart-scraping truth in high-qulaity chocolate snark.
And Erika once again shoots and scores.
And then, as if it were a poem in lit class, I took the words apart, and realized, at least for these purposes, that I was somebody.
I love this sentence beyond the telling of it.
My favorite too, -t. Erika's drabbles are always painful.
Sarameg, Gar's right. That was a gut-punch.
It was erika's mention of road pizza that prompted it (dad referred to his pizza face after his accident.) Or started it percolating. Something like that. Thanks!
Here is Allyson's book at the B&N in Independence, MO: [link]
Congrats, Allyson!
