The truck. I see the lights coming towards me as I enter the bridge. Hear the screaming horn. “You were there.” My words are strangled. The night was so dark and the rain so heavy and the shock so intense that none of my memories are very clear. But I remember the truck driver getting out of his cab, silhouetted by his headlights as he staggered towards the broken railing. Another, more recent memory resurfaces. Miri, on the bus, saying you’ve got the kind of face that feels familiar. She was inside the truck. She saw it all. And she remembered me. Even if she couldn’t place when or how.
