People, Places, and Things

1. The Derivative of a Velocity Function Yields an Acceleration Function

1. The Derivative of a Velocity Function Yields an Acceleration Function

I couldn’t be more sick of this rain. It was February for Christ’s sake, in the Midwest, no less. I was enraged because I had to walk. Everywhere. It wasn’t that I liked walking, but my brother crashed my car four months ago and I couldn’t afford a new one. 

As much as I want to say it’s not his fault, it sort of is. Two months prior to his accident, our father died. Me, I wasn’t too torn up about it, but my brother was devastated. I couldn’t blame him, since my father had spent most of his free time with his heir and only son. Notice how I never call him ‘Dad.’ He was my father, but not my dad. Jamie, he had a different relationship with the man, therefore, was psychologically effected differently. We both had to see grief counselors -- Jamie still sees his. I went twice and stopped. It was obvious I didn’t need it. One night, Jamie was having nightmares about our father’s death. It wasn’t the first time, and like the great and caring sister that I am, I went to him to wake him from his terror. He was angry that I had seen him so vulnerable (like I hadn’t before? I was his big sister for goodness’ sake!) and stormed out. He took my car and got into an accident. The police report said that it was the other driver’s fault; that she was texting and driving and didn’t make sure the way was clear. That didn’t matter to me because it still landed my brother in the hospital breathing through a tube. 

Since then, Jamie has progressed nicely. He no longer has to breathe through a tube, but the doctors say he may never walk again; it’s too early to tell. Can you just imagine hearing that news as a seventeen year old? His life is basically over before it got a chance to begin. So, on top of losing his father, he’s lost the function of his legs. Congratulations to you. 

Even though my father’s death wasn’t affecting me, my brother’s accident did, therefore, making my father’s death impacting. I had to move back home, switch colleges, and live with my mom. She and my father had long since divorced, but Jamie’s accident affected all of us. Mom was practically living at the hospital and I was up keeping the house. I sat with Jamie every day from four o’clock to seven so Mom could go home and have time to herself. Jamie usually sits, flipping channels or sleeping. He hated it when I was there, but what was I supposed to do? Mom needed help and though he refused to admit it, Jamie did too.

Today it was raining. In February, as previously mentioned. I was on my way to the hospital from the school, sloshing through the puddles in my very old, yellow galoshes. My hood was insufficient, and my mousy brown hair was soaked and stuck to my forehead. I probably looked like a damp rat. I had only made it about a mile when a bright, obnoxiously yellow Monte Carlo drove through a puddle next to me and doused me with muddy water. I spat the water out of my mouth and flipped the car off. The car slammed on it’s brakes and reversed quickly to give me a piece of their mind. They stopped when their passenger side window was level with me. I bent down to speak directly to the driver when the door opened.

“Get in,” said the driver.

I immediately obeyed, hurrying to get out of the cold rain and wind whipping my wet hair around my face. Once I was inside, I started to warm up. My seat had a heater inside and was toasting my backside. It was the best sensation I had experienced in months. 

“Where are you going? And why in the hell are you walking in this rain?!” It was my friend, Cecelia. 

“The hospital,” I said, looking out the window.

“What for?” She said, incredulously.

Cecelia and I had been friends since grade school. Back then, we had lots in common; we had the same teacher, we both liked kittens, and we were the only girls in the class that knew how to braid hair. Since then, the two of us had sort of outgrown each other. We turned into two very different people, but we never really let our friendship die. It was a strange arrangement that no one seemed to understand. Not even we understood it, to be perfectly honest.