I fear. I fear. I fear. I worry.

Each thought of her is the last. I fear that one of us will die before it is reconciled. I see her in my mind; her petite body posed in that cocky stance; her lips form the smile that could at any second turn into a frown; her cute little nose. I think how I could have made it better, how I could have stopped it, how I could have helped her, how I should have known. I think of how I never told her that I’m sorry. I wish that I had made it different. I kick myself. I wish that I could have had some guts, then. I wish that I could have some guts, now. I wish that I could tell her. I wish that I could tell her.

Each drive she takes is the last. I see her, she is driving the green car. I hear the music flood into my ears, pummeling them with the anger of the verse. I feel the warmth blowing from the heater, warming my face, drying out my eyes. I smell the bad vanilla air freshener, it reminds me of a friend. I see the road rushing toward us, illuminated by the beams of the headlights. I see the trees crouching over the roadway, crowding us, awaiting the day when they can once again take it over. I see her by the green glow of the dashboard dials; the usually quiet girl sings along to the angry music, eyes on the road; she does not see me. I see the deer. I see the trees. I feel the impact. I see the wreckage. I see her. I see the blood. I see the glass. I smell the bad vanilla air freshener, it makes me want to puke. I see her. I see the blood. I want to hold her, to comfort her. I want to tell her how I feel, that I’m there for her. I see her at her funeral. I see her in a coffin. I see her dressed in clothes and in makeup that she’d never voluntarily wear. I smell the flowers. I hear the sobbing. I wish I could tell her.

Each step I take is the last. I see myself stepping from the curb. I see the car coming toward me. I see the expression on the woman’s face. I see each strand of her dark brown hair. I see myself being struck; the force of the bumper sends bloodied shards of leg through the back of my pants, then bounces my body up onto the maroon hood like a ball, and into the windshield, breaking it with my face. I see myself a crumpled pile on the ground, moaning, broken, covered in safety glass and blood. I hear the screaming. I hear the panic. I hear the crowd forming around me. I hear the wind rustling the fallen leaves across the ground. I hear the dog barking in the distance. I hear the sirens.

Each breath I take is the last. I think of how it could have been, how it should have been, how it will be. I think of everything all at once. I have so much to say. I try to tell the screaming lady to tell my family that I love them, to tell my best friend that I love her, to tell my boyfriend that I love him. I try to tell the screaming lady to tell the girl that I’m sorry… for not knowing, for not helping her, for not talking to her about it, for everything. I find that the words cannot come out. I find that my speech comes out as gasps. I find that the lady will not stop screaming long enough to even look at me. I find no one in the crowd to hear my last words. I hear the sirens grow near. I hear my breath grow staggered. I hear… silence.

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