Another Yahrzeit
On Saturday, I thought I was going to die. The world outside the car turned white in a matter of minutes, and my Uber driver explained that this is the worst time to drive. Right when it comes down. The roads are so slick, so suddenly. He’d much rather drive when there’s 2–3 inches on the ground. I pointed my camera toward the window to take a photo of the snow for Iris when I heard him say something about looking at the cars up ahead. Then we swerved to the left, across two lanes on the freeway. I looked behind me, over my right shoulder, and saw a car coming right toward me. Then: Boom. Boom. Boom. We were hit from every direction, like bumper cars. The airbag deployed, and I saw a tiny flame inside of it, smoke coming out, filling my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. The flame made me think the car was going to explode, so I started to get out, but the driver, bleeding everywhere, told me to stay put and brace myself in case we got hit again.
That’s when I thought: I’m going to die. My children will grow up without me. My husband will be alone. My mother will have to bury two children in the same week. What a strange fucking thing to happen three days before your yahrzeit.
Naturally, I’ve been thinking about endings. Mine, yours, the kids at Parkland and Sandy Hook. The people in Aurora. The people in the other Aurora. They’re so sudden and unpredictable. How can something so…
