by Don White (Central Park, Burnaby)
It resounded like a rifle firing, perhaps a cannon ball landing. An SUV had slammed into the back of my SUV. My head hit the back of the headrest. I went dizzy.
“Stay calm,” I coached myself. “You’re still in the driver’s seat.”
I had slowed to make a U-turn at a turn island then stopped to let other cars pass. It never occurred to me that someone might be aware of its presence, of the opportunity to turn around here. That was the purpose of the turn island.
I completed my turn, drove in the direction from which I had come, passing the T-section from I had turned left and on turning once more, drove back to the gas station where the driver of the SUV who had hit me was now parked.
I got out and immediately felt dizzy. I had suffered a concussion from a bike accident seven years earlier almost to the day. On February 14th, 2007, I had had hit a fence and toppled onto the cement in the midst of losing control of my ten-speed bike. I lost consciousness, bloodied my lip and nose. The morning following I looked like a raccoon, deep purple circles outlining my eyes.
A woman had been driving the other SUV, a blue Jeep Wrangler. I walked to the back of my Toyota smoky gray 4-Runner and saw that the back hatch window, and the adjacent window on the right back were gone.
The sound of the explosion. I thought. I recalled one of the many times my mother had hit me, her one and only daughter. On this occasion she had used the inch-thick paddle she had had students in the high school wood working class to make, her married surname, written on it in black.
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