Just One Fix

I have never been good at being stuck in traffic, but ever since the accident it's been so much worse.  This morning was bad, traffic slowed to a crawl because of some ridiculous prank; a giant fungal shelf in the downtown core.  

Funny how closing 2 blocks of road in just the right location can paralyse everything.  Sitting parked on a highway in the morning heat would have been bad enough.  But I could see the scar in the roadside field where my car had burned while rescue crews worked on me, just a month ago.  The scar wasn't really there anymore, of course, but in my mind I could still see it.

I saw the ghost of it whenever I looked out a window.

I couldn't quite shake the feeling of that night, the terror, the intense desire to stay alive.  My daughter needed me, mom needed me.  No matter what happened I couldn't let them down.  I held onto that thought as the rescue teams worked all night.

I couldn't shake that feeling the next day at work.  After a while I stopped wanting to shake it, I've been told that they call this step Acceptance.  I've also heard it called the aftershock, or afterglow.  

But this morning, I didn't feel any of that.  Stuck in traffic staring at the ghost of my accident site I couldn't even really remember exactly how it felt.  Today was going to be a long day.  Meetings all day  and then Susan's recital.

I sort of wished I could just call in dead.

When I finally did get to work I'd missed most of my morning meetings.  But at least I felt fresh, engaged, ready to take on the world. I couldn't shake the idea that the team was looking at me weird, like something on my face had changed.  Or like there was something on my face.  Admittedly, it was unusual for me to miss meetings, but it had been a weird morning.  So I chalked it up to everyone being nervous about the mushroom bomb.  

And then through the afternoon, my longstanding clients kept giving me the same odd double take.    I did find time to call the garage to check on my car.  Car repairs were adding up, this whole ordeal was getting so expensive.  

I found myself thinking about the accident again on the way to Susan's recital in the rental car.  Dealing with other parents, and their children, had never been my best thing.  And as much as I loved Susan I had to admit to myself that no matter how cute I thought she was, at five she was no ballerina.  Nor should she be. I found Susan as quickly as I could after the last kids finished their pieces.  She hugged me, as if the world depended on it.  Then she looked at me sadly.

“Mommy, weren't your eyes green this morning?”