Holding Tight
; remember
The only solid memory I have of that night is Katy Perry’s voice. Cause baby you’re a fiiirewooork, come on let your colouuurs burst~ We were listening to our weekly favourite that, for three and a half minutes, made everything seem better.
The other details are either lost or just fragmented versions of what they were meant to be.
Occasionally I’ll get snippets of our laughter, images of Mackenzie’s eyes crinkled in humour. I think the car windows were down, because sometimes when my hair lifts in the breeze, I can’t breathe. When I’m in a car and the revs pass into the red zone, I panic. But I can’t put these pieces together and create a whole picture.
What I do know, is that it was dark. I know it was a Saturday night. And I know we were speeding. I can’t remember this, but it was in the police report.
This is the same reason that I know I had a blood-alcohol level of 0.2%, which is four times the legal limit of an adult driver in Australia.
I also know that there was no logical reason for us both to have survived. Which makes sense, since only one of us really did.
I now walk with a permanent limp from a fracture in my knee. The skin over my right bicep had to be grafted, leaving me with scars and the inability to wear short sleeves. I broke two ribs, my wrist, and sprained my neck. I was in hospital, in an induced coma, for 3 weeks. I have PTSD.
Despite all this, I’m the lucky one.
I’m the one who bought the shots that night; I’m the one who thought I could drive home; I’m the one who drove the car off the bridge.
Despite it being my fault, I’m the one who woke up.
And my sister didn’t.
The other details are either lost or just fragmented versions of what they were meant to be.
Occasionally I’ll get snippets of our laughter, images of Mackenzie’s eyes crinkled in humour. I think the car windows were down, because sometimes when my hair lifts in the breeze, I can’t breathe. When I’m in a car and the revs pass into the red zone, I panic. But I can’t put these pieces together and create a whole picture.
What I do know, is that it was dark. I know it was a Saturday night. And I know we were speeding. I can’t remember this, but it was in the police report.
This is the same reason that I know I had a blood-alcohol level of 0.2%, which is four times the legal limit of an adult driver in Australia.
I also know that there was no logical reason for us both to have survived. Which makes sense, since only one of us really did.
I now walk with a permanent limp from a fracture in my knee. The skin over my right bicep had to be grafted, leaving me with scars and the inability to wear short sleeves. I broke two ribs, my wrist, and sprained my neck. I was in hospital, in an induced coma, for 3 weeks. I have PTSD.
Despite all this, I’m the lucky one.
I’m the one who bought the shots that night; I’m the one who thought I could drive home; I’m the one who drove the car off the bridge.
Despite it being my fault, I’m the one who woke up.
And my sister didn’t.