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The
car
is
eviscerated
.
The
impact
of
a
four
-
ton
pickup
truck
going
sixty
miles
an
hour
plowing
straight
into
the
passenger
side
had
the
force
of
an
atom
bomb
.
It
tore
off
the
doors
,
sent
the
front
-
side
passenger
seat
through
the
driver
’
s
-
side
window
.
It
flipped
the
chassis
,
bouncing
it
across
the
road
and
ripped
the
engine
apart
as
if
it
were
no
stronger
than
a
spiderweb
.
It
tossed
wheels
and
hubcaps
deep
into
the
forest
.
It
ignited
bits
of
the
gas
tank
,
so
that
now
tiny
flames
lap
at
the
wet
road
.
And
there
was
so
much
noise
.
A
symphony
of
grinding
,
a
chorus
of
popping
,
an
aria
of
exploding
,
and
finally
,
the
sad
clapping
of
hard
metal
cutting
into
soft
trees
.
Then
it
went
quiet
,
except
for
this
:
Beethoven
’
s
Cello
Sonata
no
.
3
,
still
playing
.
The
car
radio
somehow
still
is
attached
to
a
battery
and
so
Beethoven
is
broadcasting
into
the
once
-
again
tranquil
February
morning
.
At
first
I
figure
everything
is
fine
.
For
one
,
I
can
still
hear
the
Beethoven
.
Then
there
’
s
the
fact
that
I
am
standing
here
in
a
ditch
on
the
side
of
the
road
.
When
I
look
down
,
the
jean
skirt
,
cardigan
sweater
,
and
the
black
boots
I
put
on
this
morning
all
look
the
same
as
they
did
when
we
left
the
house
.
I
climb
up
the
embankment
to
get
a
better
look
at
the
car
.
It
isn
’
t
even
a
car
anymore
.
It
’
s
a
metal
skeleton
,
without
seats
,
without
passengers
.
Which
means
the
rest
of
my
family
must
have
been
thrown
from
the
car
like
me
.
I
brush
off
my
hands
onto
my
skirt
and
walk
into
the
road
to
find
them
.
I
see
Dad
first
.
Even
from
several
feet
away
,
I
can
make
out
the
protrusion
of
the
pipe
in
his
jacket
pocket
.
"
Dad
,
"
I
call
,
but
as
I
walk
toward
him
,
the
pavement
grows
slick
and
there
are
gray
chunks
of
what
looks
like
cauliflower
.
I
know
what
I
’
m
seeing
right
away
but
it
somehow
does
not
immediately
connect
back
to
my
father
.
What
springs
into
my
mind
are
those
news
reports
about
tornadoes
or
fires
,
how
they
’
ll
ravage
one
house
but
leave
the
one
next
door
intact
.
Pieces
of
my
father
’
s
brain
are
on
the
asphalt
.
But
his
pipe
is
in
his
left
breast
pocket
.
I
find
Mom
next
.
There
’
s
almost
no
blood
on
her
,
but
her
lips
are
already
blue
and
the
whites
of
her
eyes
are
completely
red
,
like
a
ghoul
from
a
low
-
budget
monster
movie
.
She
seems
totally
unreal
.
And
it
is
the
sight
of
her
looking
like
some
preposterous
zombie
that
sends
a
hummingbird
of
panic
ricocheting
through
me
.
I
need
to
find
Teddy
!
Where
is
he
?
I
spin
around
,
suddenly
frantic
,
like
the
time
I
lost
him
for
ten
minutes
at
the
grocery
store
.
I
’
d
been
convinced
he
’
d
been
kidnapped
.
Of
course
,
it
had
turned
out
that
he
’
d
wandered
over
to
inspect
the
candy
aisle
.
When
I
found
him
,
I
hadn
’
t
been
sure
whether
to
hug
him
or
yell
at
him
.
I
run
back
toward
the
ditch
where
I
came
from
and
I
see
a
hand
sticking
out
.
"
Teddy
!
I
’
m
right
here
!
"
I
call
.
"
Reach
up
.
I
’
ll
pull
you
out
.
"
But
when
I
get
closer
,
I
see
the
metal
glint
of
a
silver
bracelet
with
tiny
cello
and
guitar
charms
.
Adam
gave
it
to
me
for
my
seventeenth
birthday
.
It
’
s
my
bracelet
.
I
was
wearing
it
this
morning
.
I
look
down
at
my
wrist
.
I
’
m
still
wearing
it
now
.
