I hadn’t even realized I’d been gotten, until eight feet from the back of the van, oomphing a cart across crumbling concrete, I saw them.
Plain as day.
Threaded on the window wiper on the back of the van.
At which time I cried.
Twenty minutes earlier the a man who’d steadied his black car beside me on Hwy 512—neither passing nor pulling away—but motioning….motioning with his both hands like he was a cat clawing the air, had only wanted to help.
I see that now.
And when he kept flapping his arm like it might fall off and mouthing words I couldn’t hear, while I eyeballed him in my peripheral, well…I see that he was, um…still trying to help.
I see a lot of things.
And unfortunately in my mind, I see my husband laughing his socks off.
Heh. For now.