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Gasping, I rub my eyes harder, getting rid of my blurred vision to take in my whereabouts.
My vision comes back, but only causes me more confusion.
Why is my vision upside down?
Wait. No. My vision isn’t the problem; I am the problem. I’m upside down.
Why am I upside down?
The cries that fill the air and blend in with the heavy raindrops are now my own. I begin to remember where I am and what has happened.
“Mommy!” the voice cries out louder than my screams, and my own cries instantly stop when I hear it. I realize exactly where I am and what is happening with my now clear head.
“Luca! Luca, baby. Mommy is here!” I struggle against the seatbelt; I have to get to him.
To Luca. My son.
We were in the car, driving home, when we were struck by another vehicle and flipped.
My baby is scared. I have to get to him anyhow. I scream, struggling against the seatbelt that won’t budge. It’s tight against my chest, locked into place, suspending me against my seat upside down.
We were in an accident. I’m still in our car, and it’s still upside down.
“Luca, baby, keep talking to me. Do you have an owie?” I yell, needing to keep him calm and talking until I can get to him and fix whatever injuries he may have. The fear in his voice makes my chest ache, and I know I have to keep him calm. We both need to remain calm.
“Yes, Mommy. My tummy hurts bad! Where’s Daddy?”
Daddy?
Declan. Fuck!
I remember the accident, and he was driving. Looking to the side in hopes of seeing Declan, I gasp at the sight.
The driver’s seat is empty.
Where’s Declan? Is he okay? I’ll get our son and then I’ll find my husband.
“Baby, Mommy loves you so much! I’m going to come get you!” I’m getting out of this fucking seatbelt, no matter what.
“I wuv you too, Mommy. My tummy hurts.”
“It’s okay, baby. Mommy will kiss your owie and make it feel better. Where are you, Luca?” I feel around the car for anything that I can use to cut myself out of the seatbelt.
“Luca! You need to talk to Mommy, okay?”
“O-o-okay, M-mommy!” His sobs are choked, causing us both pain. My fingertips brush over a shard of glass, and I want to jump in joy. Holding the shard tightly, I begin working it back and forth over the seatbelt fabric across my chest. The glass is cutting into the palm of my right hand, but I am numb to the pain. I don’t even notice it until I see the blood dripping down my arm.
“We’ll have ice cream for breakfast, okay, sweetie?” I hiss as the glass digs deeper into my hand. The stubborn material of the seatbelt is barely budging. I can’t cut it fast enough.
And I can’t keep Luca talking.
The faint cries stop.
“Luca? Baby, talk to me.”
Silence.
“I said we can eat ice cream. Are you excited?” He begs to have ice cream for breakfast every morning, so why isn’t he answering me? He should be excited and saying something.
