Memory

My memory of the incident comes in waves. Some days, I can relive every detail, every smell, every colour, the tiniest of specks of dust floating in the sun streaming through my window. Other days, the images blur, like sand stirring up beneath the waves of a roiling sea.

The smell of copper, the black patches, the smashing of the glass.

That Monday started like any other, sipping my green tea while I caught up on weekend emails, listening to the news on the radio, snippets of the most interesting events in a score of other people's lives. The sun shone brightly, making dust cloud kaleidoscopes. Most importantly, I experienced waves of happiness, as though my routine could protect me from all the evil that dwells outside my sanctuary.

But the darkness can seep through any crack, slipping between molecules or shoving its way, cracking and splintering as it advances. Accidents aren't mistakes, per se, they are coincidences smushed up against flukes, mixing with fate until they become outcomes.

Come through my window they did. Smash through my walls they did. My body, once taken for granted, became a fulcrum between a fender and my bookshelf.

Temper

Jesse had about as much control over her temper as she had over the weather. And no, she wasn't a witch or a rainmaker. Any wrongdoing could set her off, from having a random passenger in her car diss the music she had selected, to finding only half-fresh mushrooms at the grocery store.

She understood the implications of her weakness, including alienation, poor friendship retention, and the label that started with a b and rhymed with witch. Secretly, she longed to be cool and collected, she even went so far as to study people who were of an even temperament. But she could not find the switch inside her mind that turned off her explosive fuse.

Bobby liked Jesse. He thought the curve of her neck could not be more perfect, that her eyes almost glowed with their grey hue, and that her smile had a touch of wickedness that filled his mind with impure thoughts. The only obstacle between him and the act of asking Jesse out remained her temper.

Bobby was not a strong man, nor a self-confident one. He simply existed, and on a plane that most days did not involve interaction with the opposite sex. Want as he did, he could not move towards the getting, only the yearning existed.