05 January 2012
6 the story
we are sitting in my grandparents' living room on inverness. my mother is telling this story. my head is in her lap, her fingers are running through my hair. i'm maybe five or six years old.
i'm pretending to be asleep. she's telling this story. it's about this woman who survived a car crash only to die in the cop car after because, upon getting in the cop car (not knowing her neck was broken), she tilted her head back to look up at the stars.
i'm thirty and yet, every time i turn my head too fast and it feels like the vein in the back of my neck is setting fire to the bone, still i think of this woman. still, i remember this story and look up at the stars.
filed under: the family forward