Mum hits the brakes so suddenly I hit my forehead on the dashboard. It was painful. I could feel my forehead throbbing as I slap a hand on it and start rubbing. The profanities that were directed at the idiotic driver who almost collided with us have now shifted to me. She blames me for taking off my seatbelt. I know it is my fault. She proceeds to degrade my intellect, which confuses me. But I know it is my fault. I listen to her intently, a shaky hand reaching for the seatbelt to fasten it into the clasp again. I tell her I am sorry, but the words come out a low whimper. She sighs. Mum wishes I would stop acting like a child that needs to be taken care of every damn second. I wish I could tell her I am trying my best, but I cannot muster enough strength to say it.
The rest of the trip back home is unremarkable. After the near-collision event, none of us speaks a word. The radio falls into a static frequency. I glance at Mum. She does not seem to care. I lean back in my seat and let the white noise flood my consciousness. Mum is having a bad day. I can tell from her disheveled hair, and the clench in her jaw. Her knuckles are white from gripping the wheel too tightly. There is also a slight scent of peppermint oil hanging in the air. However, the biggest giveaway must be the backseat and how it is a mess of divorce papers and envelopes. I glance at Mum again. I wonder if she could tell if I am having a bad day too. Dad usually can.
END OF LOG
> alter memory
AWAITING INPUT (7s)_
> cancel & verify
YOU ARE READING
TX-2033-LEEKNIGHT-1004-AM
Storie breviA grief-stricken mother relives the final days of her troubled daughter while attempting to preserve and restore data from her memory logs. *** In the midst of her divorce proceedings with her estranged husband, Helen raises their troubled daughter...
