I Almost Killed Her
The light was green, going my way up a one way street. Maybe I was doing twenty-five in the lead up to the intersection, blinded by buildings that ran out to the strip of concrete on every corner.
Sunlight flashed on metal.
A college-aged girl shot from the side street into the convergence. I had less than fifty feet to swerve or stop the car before I mowed her and her bicycle into the asphalt.
Her streaming red hair wasn’t covered by a helmet.
Pressing both feet on the brake, I screeched, trying to miss her panicked eyes as she almost fell from her seat. With a quick pivot, I swerved into the vacant lane next to me, finally coming to a stop beyond her, inches from her.
I cried all the way home.
Tell that to her grieving parents, who surely would’ve sued me anyway.
Remind my nightmares that the memory of her pooling mutilation wasn’t my fault.
Pour that on my agonized guilty conscience every minute of every hour of every day for the rest of my life for having to live while someone else didn’t.