Crash and Burn
More than a year after a motorcycle accident nearly killed me, I finally got the answers I'd spent months demanding. The driver was cited, went to court, and received a deferred sentence. Case closed, apparently. Except my life didn't just go on. There were weeks in the hospital, months of recovery, and a hole in my memory where the accident should be. I thought getting answers might bring closure. Instead, I'm sitting here wondering how the fuck you let go of a version of justice that's never going to materialize.
The Miles Between
A year ago, somebody nearly took my life. Yesterday, I was riding my motorcycle to work, bitching about the cold, and going about my day. I didn't even remember what day it was until somebody pointed at the tattoo on my arm.
The List
Almost a year after the motorcycle crash, I showed Dawna the list of everything that had been broken, torn, punctured, crushed, or otherwise fucked up that night. I expected her to understand what I survived. I wasn't expecting the fucking list to remind me how much of it I'm still carrying.