The wind was blowing off Lake Michigan cooling off the city and making everything clean. We had two hot dogs each from a vendor pushing a cart.
"Not a word of this to your Grandmother." My mother said as she used a napkin to wipe a bit of mustard and relish off my face. I pulled away.
"Oh, I forgot." Mother said lowering the napkin. "My son is too old for his mother to take care of him. He's fourteen and all grown up. Can you ever forgive me?"
"Yes."
She put down her hot dog, grabbed my face with her hands and plastered it with kisses. "Thank you thank you thank you."
The rain came down so hard we couldn't see past the hood of the car. The windshield wipers were useless. Then out of no where came the brake lights of the truck in front of us. We hydroplaned off the road, down an embankment and then back up the other side into the face of on-coming traffic.
We didn't have time to brace for the impact from the first car. It hit us and sent us spinning into the second.
My head smashed the windshield, spider webbing it. The truck hit us and sent us back down the embankment until we came to stop.
I fell out of the car into a puddle of mud when I heard...
"My baby."
Through the rain I saw my mother. She stood over me. Her summer dress clung to her blood soaked body -- her face red and white pulp.
She fell to her knees and took me in her arms.
"My baby."
Her body convulsed and she died, cradling me.
They used a picture from her high school year book, thankfully, instead of an open casket for her funeral. My Grandmother pushed me up in the wheelchair.
I rested my head against the dark wood coffin and...wish it had been me.
I heard Steve unlocking the door.
And quickly put the journal away.
