From the Other Side of the Gap
I don’t know you, but I saw the red-and-blue flashes. A bit of open street before a long line of traffic, emergency vehicles stopped at angles where they shouldn’t have been. A black car slammed nose-first into a cement pole, white airbags pushing outward against the windows. People in uniform stood in the gray dawn, directing traffic, their faces grim. I had just left home. I was on my way to work as the sun rose behind me, listening to my audiobook, thinking about my new job. And then, just past the black car, I saw the twisted, charcoal wreckage resting in the middle of a neighborhood entrance— both wheels still intact enough to recognize it as a vehicle. I noticed where two police cars were parked nose-to-bumper in the bike lane, and through the tiny gap between I saw what they were trying to shield: the lumpy yellow sheet spread on the sidewalk. And I knew. Maybe you had just left home too. Maybe you were on your way back after a long overnight shift. Like I said, I don’t kno...


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