Entry Fifty-Eight BUS STORIES ENTRY

Oh jeez. This makes two entries in one day. And two BUS STORIES entries at that! Also, I am close to the 60 landmark. Who wants to get me a diamond? Ha. Just kidding.

SO here goes. I'm pretty sure it's going to be another short one. I need to sleep.


Time to put on a little Muse/Coldplay/Keane (etc.) and let 'er rip!


STARTING RIGHT AFTER THE LAST ENTRY (just after she pushed 7)

Not much stuck out in my mind after that. The cold, realistic part of me was weeping. My disgusted and terribly pessimistic sense of being scoffed and took over. First, call in. No work today.

I'm not sure who I talked to or what was said. I'm sure I made my excuses and the co-worker receiving the information was rolling their eyes. Most of them did that behind my back. They thought I was a crazy, lazy, anti-socialite suffering from depression. They were right.

Next thing I knew, I was in my car. My noisy, old Saturn. The tires needed rotating. The whole car shook if I got over 60 mph on the highway.

No breakfast with Josh and Susan.

No time for ANY kind of pleasantness this morning.

I'm not sure if the horrid consciousness leading my actions really had intentions of my death. Death always sounded like a good idea at times like this. But today? Today was different. I'd tried death on this day. Several times. Last year in fact. It never worked. October 24th was not may day to die in any year. Yet it was the death day reserved for a man and an unborn baby boy.

Desperate for something to take the anguish that was threatening to explode in me, I made my down the highway. Go somewhere. Anywhere. The car shook in protest as I pushed 85. That should have warned me. But I just wanted to forget.

I could never forget.

It had been dark then. But not too dark. The stars and moon painted the road with silver. The windows were down and the air smelled of dead leaves and spices. We were driving home from a week early Halloween party. Me and Will. It had been outside the city. A friend owned some land. There had been a bonfire, marshmallows, hot dogs, soda. I'd held Will's hand and snuggled with him on a soft fleece blanket. He grabbed a white hot tipped branch and wrote my name in smoke. He rested his free hand on my gently swelling belly.

Mikey kicked for the very first time.

We had been so excited. We made everyone come over and try to feel it. No one did, of course. Once Will's hand had left, the kicking stopped. It didn't matter. We both felt it. We knew it was real. There were no words in existence that could describe the happiness and contentment that I felt.

No words will be invented that can express how I felt when all that was taken from me. How I feel now, sill existing without them.

I wasn't watching the road. I just barreled down. There was a split second when I saw it coming at me. This horribly battered and sad looking truck. In that second, all this flooded in...

...Better to die remembering something wonderful than something awful. Better to have reality wrench you back just before memory lane took you into a terrifying dark tunnel. What was the color? Why was it going the wrong way on the highway? It didn't matter because it was there and nothing could stop what was going to happen. Did I brace myself? Did I make any attempt to avoid it? No. Here was my chance. Here was this truck, here was me. The distance between us closing impossibly fast. And at the last second...would I make it through this?

Okay, for real. Time to get to sleep.

Tomorrow I will definitely have more. Can't stop a good flow while it's coming.