{"life, love, and tears"}

*those are the three requirements my father expects of anything he is reading. I don't expect the same, especially in a short short story. When I'm writing I usually am aiming to catch a thought or a mood I am in. This, according to my father over drinks after thanksgiving dinner, does not make for very good reading, which I can understand. It comes off, he says, as too sophisticated. My stories don't go anywhere. Well today I will try to deliver at least on a little plot, though I don't think I'll be able to deliver on my dad's big three. Still it is thanksgiving and I am thankful for my father's constructive criticism, so here ya go pop. and mom. and everyone.

I made a mp3 mix to go along with this short story. Its called accident (to download click. then click request download link. then click download file in the top right hand corner of the screen) I'll put the tracklist below. enjoy.*

"Hey Lady What The Hell Did You Think You We're Doing Back Their You Nearly Killed Me And Now My Car is Destr- oh shit are you okay?"

I hear these words, one at a time, each one floating around me. The words register in my mind: 'hey', 'buddy', 'what', and so on... but once I hear him say 'okay?' I can't put the words together again. I hold onto each word, and when I put them together I start losing my grip on them, and so they fall into a random order. They make no sense. no sense they make. make they sense no. sense no make they.

"Oh shitshitSHIT- lady, can you hear me?"

Of course I can hear you. Wait. Yes! I understand him. But I still can't speak. I can't speak still. I can't- focus. I need to focus. My head feels like it has needles in it. Focus. Okay. Where am I?

I feel his index and middle fingers touch my neck.

"are you checking my pulse?", I am amazed these word come out of my mouth. I didn't know I could do that again.

Neither did he: through my blurry vision I can see his hand pulling quickly away from my neck, out of my broken car window. As if he had just touched a hot stove.

"fuck", I rub my eyes trying to see what he is swearing about. His arm is bleeding. He must of cut it on my window's broken glass when he pulled it out.

"why the hell didn't you tell me you could hear me? jesus!"
"I didn't know I could tell you." I want to get out to help him with his arm turning all red , but my door is jammed shut. I look past him and see cars, in every direction. I touch my forehead trying to ease the worst headache of my life.

"so what the hell were you doing just sitting in middle of the intersection like that lady?"
Its true. Our cars make a capital T right in the heart of the intersection. From the looks of it, its still be rush-hour because all four streets leading towards us are packed. The police or ambulance won't be able to make it in anytime soon.

My head feels like its opening up. "I was drawing"
"What?" his eyes turn away from his arm and glare at me.
"The last thing I remember is drawing on a small note pad on my dashboard"
"are you FUCKING insane?"
"I always do that when I'm stuck in this traffic. I drive through this slowdown every day. sometimes I'm stuck behind a car twenty minutes before moving an inch. I remember having a really good idea and it didn't look like the car in front of me was moving anytime soon"
"well you were drawing right in the middle of the intersection"
"Yeah. I can see that now."
He turns away from me running his available hand through his hair and muttering something I can't hear. I look at all the cars and wonder why no one is coming to my rescue. Where is my brave citizen in shining armour? Or at least someone with a tylenol. I swear the first person who can open this damn door and walk me away from this goddamn smell, I'll give them my firstbor-

that smell. What is it? It surrounds me but I can't place it. It seems odd but familiar. I remember it. I remember... it reminds me of childhood. Sitting in the backseat and rolling down my window a crack to smell it. Helping my dad to wash the windshields, I'd smell it while he pumped: Gas. I must be sitting in pool of gasoline. no wonder no one will come near me. My headache has started to move down to the base of my head, the top of my neck.

"so you can't get out of their eh?" He's come back, calmed down.
"doesn't seem like I can no."
"Well I'd try to help you but you sort of put my arm out of commission"
He says this with a small, hidden smile. Is he flirting with me? Two seconds ago he was ready to break my neck. Men never have a good sense of timing.
"yeah. sorry about that." I say dryly with a fake smile.
"so. what idea was so important you had to nearly kill us both for?"
"I have no goddamn clue because you smashed into me right when I was trying to get it down on paper. and by the way: how did you miss a car sitting right in the middle of an intersection?"
He ignores my question, still with his hidden grin: "wait. you said you we're drawing, not writing down an idea."
"I was trying to draw out the idea, that's what I always do. drawing is faster and even then I only draw-out an idea in traffic if its a really, really good idea. I don't think there is much chance of finding my drawing pad now."
He turns and gives a large not-hidden smile: "yeah. sorry about that."

His arm hasn't stopped bleeding even though he's tied his dress shirt around it. I see the blood slowly walking down his fingers. We both look out at the wall of cars, and I can hear sirens off in the distance. I try to remember my idea through the pain echoing in my head. I know I was listening to my mp3 player. I was listening, like I do everyday, to someone reading a book. Imitation, then, is one instinct of our nature.

"Imitation, then, is one instinct of our nature."
"What the hell are you talking about now lady?"
"Its a line that I remember. I was listening to a book when you hit me.", I look at him and see him holding his bloody arm high in the air, as if he is waving at me even though we are a meter apart,"Why are you holding your arm over your head for?"
He smiles again with a little laugh. and again he ignores my question: "People actually listen to books on tape?"
"Like I said, its a slow drive home. I like to get through my reading for school so that I can relax once i get home. So tell me why are you holding your arm over your head?"
"Well that lines you repeated sounds like something philosophical to me, like plato, or-"
"You're arm."
His smile shrinks: "Its fine."
I can't speak.
"why are you staring at me like that? Okay. Fine: I'm holding it up here to slow the bleeding a bit. RED. Rest. Elevate. Direct pressure"
I can only whisper: "red"
"yeah. red. what's wrong with you-" a drop of blood falls on his cheek. He looks up and sees that his arm is covered in thick red blood. Its a sea of shiny red glistening in the sunlight, moving down his shoulder. "fuckfuckmcmotherfuck" he quickly takes off his undershirt. "reach out through the window. now. help me." He looks scared.

I put my hand out and hold onto the loose end of the shirt while he ties it right underneath the wound or where the wound should be submerged under the waves of blood. All the while he is muttering under his breath like a car engine trying to start.

"I'm such an idiot. I barley even tied that last shirt. I tied it on the wound as if it was a fucking band aid. fucking mother shitfuck. You've gotta tie it tight like this to cut off the circulation. Fuck, where in the fuck these asshole medics. ughh. I've gotta sit down."

I could feel his head as he sat against my jammed door. Only his raised bloody arm above is still in my vision.
"Are you gonna be okay... umm..." I don't know his name.
"Alex. My name is Alex. Yeah I'll be okay. Though I just realized right now that I sat down in gasoline"
"Yeah I should've warned you about that."
I hear his small laugh again. "Thats okay. Hey. Can you hear that chopper?"
"Yeah I think so", its barley louder than his laugh, " but I can't see it"
"Well it has got to be freakin' close by now. Yeah. It has to be close."
I sat their staring at his arm. The one finger that was not covered in blood was starting to go pale.
"So I don't want to have to nearly died without hearing what your great idea was."
"I told you that I can't remember"
"Well.. ahh... what's you're name?"
"Amy"
"Well Amy I'm certainly not going anywhere until that helicopter swoops down from the heavens, so why not think up a new idea for me. start with that Plato or whatever shit you were talking about. It's just you and me here now-"
"the unities, that's what the book was talking about!"
"whose unities?"
" Writers'. The book on tape was talking about it when I got stuck behind that car. The unities are a classic ideal writers' used to aspire to: that a story should only be set in one scene, with only one plot, in real time. or something like that."
"that was your idea? how did you draw that?"
"I didn't that was the point."
"Maybe its the fact I've lost a pint of blood but I don't exactly understand"
"I'm still putting this back together myself. Ummm. Okay. Focus. These unities are good for writers because it makes them concentrate on one thing, one place, one time. These rules give order to stories."
Sunlight is shining through the pieces of red broken glass on the bottom of my window.
"I think you're going to have to write me out this story when we're done today. Or will you draw it?"
People are standing outside of their cars now looking at the sky, and waving to us: the ones swimming in the gasoline. and Alex waves back with his sea of red.
"No I won't draw it... because of my idea. My idea-" I pause thinking of how to say it.
"out with it Amy, just keep talking", his voice has gone softer, as if he was yawning.
"well I was just thinking that if writers needs these three unities because their writing is so easily distracted then the opposite should apply to drawers because drawing is naturally limited."
"what in fucks central are you talking about?"
His blood is moving down my side of the door towards me.
" Think about an apple", the word red is repeats in my mind, it moves closer, "someone drawing an apple has no choice but to draw it how it looks", red, red, red, "but someone writing about it can describe its outsides, its insides, its history, its symbolism", red, red, "Writers need the unities to control them, keep them in check. But drawers need to be liberated from the unities. So I decided to try to draw that." The blood touches my leg.
"draw what?" I can barley hear him ask because the sound of the helicopter's blades is cutting through the air.
"To draw an un-unified time, place, and action. so everything all at once"
His blood blows off of his arm past my face.
"what did it look like?" Voices of paramedics come rushing towards us.
"Nothing. I don't know. I can't remember. That's when we hit."
They begin to lift him up. He looks at me from the stretcher. They are checking his pulse: "it was an accident".
Firemen are breaking the red glass from my window. They pull me out and now Alex and I lye side by side on stretchers watching the blue sky. "Hey Alex. What do you think my drawing looked like?"
I turn my head to look at him. He is already being lifted into the helicopter. As he rises up I try to see his face, looking to see if I can find a smile.





* accident (to download click. then click request download link. then click download file in the top right hand corner of the screen) track list:
1.freebie- im talkin to you and the phone's still on the hook feat. speak her
2. mf doom- great day(fourtetmix)
3. silver mt.zion- 13angles
4.lambchop- paperback bible*