Then the IV line taped to the back of my hand.
Then the monitor beside me, green lines moving across a dark screen like proof that I was still here.
For a moment, I did not know where my car was.
Then memory returned in broken pieces.
A wet road.
Headlights too close.
Metal screaming.
My steering wheel jerking under my hands.
The world spinning so fast that the streetlights became long white cuts in the dark.
Then a stranger outside my broken window, his face pale and frightened, yelling, “Stay with me. Help is coming.”
Then nothing.
When I turned my head, pain dragged through my neck and ribs so sharply that I stopped breathing for a second.
My left arm was strapped across my chest in a sling.
One leg was braced beneath the blanket.
The blanket itself felt stiff and scratchy, like it had been washed clean of all softness.
