BROKEN GLASS - ΣΠΑΣΜΕΝΟ ΤΖΑΜΙ

BROKEN GLASS

I shouldn't have gone. If I could turn back time, I would. That night changed my life. I regret my mistake and the moment I accepted that ride.

Although a beautiful girl, I did not have an easy life. I worked in various bars to make a living. I left for the countryside often, and I had pretty good money. One quickie, they say, and back again.

That's how I was used to in my life, chasing money, at the same time, having fun. Every time I was offered a job, I accepted. So, I took that proposal without a second thought. It was in a bar in the prefecture of Ilias. Saturday. We started driving at noon from Athens with the manager who hired me.

Good guy. I didn't know him long. From the few times I met him, and we talked on the phone, he seemed like an honest kid. He would take me, he would pay me, and he would bring me back. Good deal. I hated the hassle of the buses.

I packed my things in a suitcase, and he took me to his car. It was nothing terrible, an ordinary gray vehicle. I was not afraid of it. It was comfortable inside. The route at the beginning did not bother me, and we were accompanied by soft music. He didn't talk much. The time we spoke was about ordinary things, work, and goals. We spent the rest of the journey in silence.

He was running. That was the only bad thing. I didn't complain. So long with traveling, I was used to it. I didn't mind the speed, but he stepped on the gas to catch up on something. He didn't let off the gas, steady at one hundred and forty kilometers. He didn't let it go even when the soft rain started, or the roads were foggy. To catch a night that would arrive anyway. No matter how fast we went, we would arrive on time.

We were passing the plains and fields and arriving a few kilometers before Amaliada, two hours earlier than expected, running on the wet dirt roads. We hit a turning point. A turn that he didn't have time to turn the steering wheel, a turn where the dirt ate the tires. At a turn, I saw terrified the front of the car hitting the iron beams in front of my eyes.

The seat belt held me. The car made quick turns around itself. All along the empty high street, it bumped against the side iron girders, our course irregular. I was shaking, waiting for the moment we would be thrown into the air. I was praying to a God I didn't believe in to live.

It wasn't a good car after all, no. I could hear cracks every second that passed. All the seconds, a belt held me so I wouldn't meet the windshield. The glass that finally broke was on my side. I felt the sharp pieces of broken glass on the right side of my face. Deep inside the skin, intense and full of pain, I passed out.

I shouldn't have gone. If I could change my mind, I would. Now, this memory is deeply rooted in me. It follows me. I was saved, but not my face. The mark from the broken glass remained all along the right side. Signs I can't hide, signs that changed my life. And along with my beautiful face, all my opportunities and life were lost. I shouldn't have gone. Deformed, I sit in regret.

Created by Diana Chemeris

https://dianachem.com/2022/10/06/broken-glass/