I don't remember what road we were on (not just because I have a horrible sense of direction and don't exactly know where 826 is without having a constant GPS at my side but because the details are pretty hazy leading up the incident) but I know that we're stuck in traffic and it's slow as fricking molasses for miles and I'm ready to try to fall asleep like my mom is behind me. There's an 18-wheeler ahead of us as we "drive" as much as we can when traffic inches forward...and I suddenly realize that it's getting a littletoofuckincloseohshite...
I scream. I distinctly remember letting out a scream (or a shout or a girly yelp depending on who might've heard) that wasn't quite loud enough to drown out the screech of metal grinding on metal, glass shattering and the outbursts from beside and behind me from my sister and mother.
Gemma will later explain that she was ataken back at the number of lanes on the road...and decided to count them...as she was driving...right behind a 18-wheeler. I remember she swerved to the left, clipping the right side of our SUV but managing to avoid hitting the other SUV on the lane beside the massive semi that would have definitely destroyed our car and deployed our airbags.
When the glass has settled and we're at a full stop (effectively becoming one of those stop-and-stare "accidents" that Miami-ans can't seem to move the fuck on from), the semi drives away, completely unaware that it nearly killed us.There's some crying, a lot of shouting and some shaking but it's a good thing: it means we're alive enough to argue with each other.
And then I turn around and see blood. It's coming from my mom's right elbow, that she had perched on the window sill as she tried to sleep in the backseat. It's dripping down her arm and there's a big piece lodged into her elbow that she pulls out with a wince. I feel a little sick watching it because (c'mon!) this is my mommy and because I'm kind of relieved it's not me. That last thought makes me feel really disgusted with myself long after we park at the hospital lot and I stay behind because the idea of our car, mangled, broken and wide open didn't sit well with me.
Today, I grab my mom's arm insisting on getting a decent shot of it, accidentally making her drop the spatula she was using to making eggs this morning. For some reason, I anticipate it to be big and gaping with a piece of glass still lodged inside it, instead of a barely-there indent on her elbow. Something extra to add to the stretch marks Gem left her with...
