I felt air fill my lungs. I heard a harsh wheeze near me. “I got her. Get there, Angie!” His face bent close to mine. “I’m right here. Stay with me.” “She’s conscious?” A woman’s voice. “Just drive,” he said. He raised a bloody glove to his forehead, wiped some sweat droplets clinging to his skin. Music suddenly filled my ears, but I realized it came from a memory. It was the band playing at homecoming. I could almost feel the taffeta in my fingers as I remembered that day. I’d never felt prettier in my life. My dad had sprung for me to get my hair professionally done, and they did it up like a princess. Curls and beautiful, sparkly bobby pins. We were all lined up on the football field. I was shivering in the November air as I tried to look poised. The stands were crowded, people huddled in twos and threes under blankets. I’d sung the national anthem earlier —the biggest thrill I’d ever had. I got a standing ovation! Then, there he was. I knew him. Everybody did.
