The Accident

by Natalie Barelli

lesson. A wrong answer would strip a point in your final grade. A correct answer gave you nothing.

“You may think that the odds are in your favor,” he intoned once. “Since there are thirty of you, you’ve got it in your head that there’s only one chance in thirty that I’ll pick you. But you’re wrong. The odds are fifty-fifty: either it’s you, or it’s not. Think about that.”

Take getting into a car, for example. I know the odds that I’ll die behind the wheel are one in twenty thousand, give or take, but still I think of Mr. Cunningham. That’s not how it works, Katherine. Get in the car, maybe you’ll die, maybe you won’t. Either it’s your turn or it’s not.

Two weeks ago, I didn’t even know Eve existed.

I love this grown up person my daughter is turning into. She’s becoming happier, more at ease with people and with the world.

More like a cheerleader kind of way, with bright blue eyes, shiny blond hair, rosy skin and a kind, open face. The face of someone who does good deeds for people. A volunteer’s face.

My story. I liked that. Everyone has a story. Everyone is a story.

I told her how lucky I was to get this job considering they wanted someone with experience. I’d spent so many years trying to raise my daughter, earn a living, and study all at the same time.

This is the kind of situation I find myself in often, where someone says they want to do something for me, like a favor, and somehow I end up going out of my way to help them do it.

What are the odds of getting pregnant the first time you have sex? The same as any other time. Or maybe it’s fifty fifty, either you get pregnant or you don’t.

A pitch deck is essentially a stack of slides to use for our presentation. It’s fairly short—we use it as a visual clue, to keep reinforcing key points to our potential investors. Here’s the product, this is why it’s terrific, you do not want to miss out on this one. It’s a sales tool.

And just like that, the very thing I didn’t want to happen, is happening.

No. I was bullied because I was nice. That's right. You heard it here first: Nice people get bullied for being nice. We're an easy target. Low hanging fruit.

I’m in hell.

This fear, it’s weighing me down every minute, every second. And fear has friends, too, called Guilt and Shame. They’re like a crew, the three of them. They hang out together, causing mayhem inside my head.

let a psychopath into my life. No, it’s worse than that. I invited a psychopath into my life.

She wanted to find out. She threw the bait and reeled me in. I’m an idiot. Like I said, low hanging fruit.

“I don’t have time for this shit, Katherine. I’m not going to act as referee every time you feel eclipsed by a talented young woman. Next time, sort yourself out, okay? Now go and do your job.”

but it’s not a nice smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes, for one thing. It’s more of a ‘gotcha’ kind of smile,

He’s back. He didn’t flush. He didn’t even wash his hands. So they’re both slobs, then.

That night, I sleep. For the first time in ages, I sleep properly. That’s what hope does, it’s amazing. It helps you sleep.

There was an accident. She hit someone. A man. She killed him. That’s what she said, in the letter. I killed a man.

One person in a hundred is a psychopath, give or take, which is a hell of a lot when you think about it. I know Eve is one, but I once thought that I too might be one. It’s not something I think about, ever, the truth is, the accident wasn’t the first time I killed someone.

I select a light beige cashmere turtleneck sweater and a pair of black skinny jeans with a double zip on the waist. I really like these jeans, but I only wore them once or twice because they were too tight. Now they fit perfectly. So there you go. Every nightmare has a silver lining, after all.

I thank the universe every day for that.

It never happened. It didn’t give back what they lost, but it enabled them to move forward.

She wanted to work, would have loved to work, and he forbade her. Twenty-first century Henry forbade his wife to work. So, there you go, when people make snide comments at you, criticize your choices, are always quick to judge, maybe it’s not you they resent, maybe they’re just scared.