Mom left Dad, again, and we were driving from East Texas to New Mexico. There was a horrible accident on the flatlands, and Mom pulled over to do the looky-lou thing. I might have been six.
Cars were turned over, and on one the windshield had a head-sized hole in it. There was hair and blood around the jagged edges. People were talking about searching for an infant that had been thrown from the car that rolled. They were searching a field.
There were bodies strewn around and covered with blankets. Under one, a woman's manicured left hand protruded. Mom stared for a long time at the hand, so I did, too. The hand didn't look particularly dead. Their were dimples at the knuckles, and the skin around her wedding rings was puffy, like she'd been retaining water.
We stared a bit longer. Then, in a tone like she wished Dad were present so he'd see what she saw, Mom said, "Those are exactly the style of ring I've been telling your dad I want."
Cars were turned over, and on one the windshield had a head-sized hole in it. There was hair and blood around the jagged edges. People were talking about searching for an infant that had been thrown from the car that rolled. They were searching a field.
There were bodies strewn around and covered with blankets. Under one, a woman's manicured left hand protruded. Mom stared for a long time at the hand, so I did, too. The hand didn't look particularly dead. Their were dimples at the knuckles, and the skin around her wedding rings was puffy, like she'd been retaining water.
We stared a bit longer. Then, in a tone like she wished Dad were present so he'd see what she saw, Mom said, "Those are exactly the style of ring I've been telling your dad I want."
