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She was always happy to accommodate me. The number of DVDs she brought around when she moved in with us for a few months after my accident was ridiculous. The fact that we didn’t even own a DVD player made it even funnier. So, what did she do? Gramma Harris went out and bought one. And we sat for hours on the couch, watching old movies while my body slowly recovered.
She was a lifesaver.
Heading up the last few steps, I limp my way to class, pulling out my phone and texting my favorite female in the whole wide world.
Me:’Sup, old lady? Miss your face.
By the time I’m taking a seat, I’m getting back a string of LOLs, emojis, and a GIF of Joey Tribbiani asking me, “How you doin’?”
I smile and type back.
Me: About to start my anthropology class. What are you doing today?
G-Dawg: The Big G and I are playing golf today. Gonna kick his ass on the fairways. Can’t let the ol’ boy think he’s better than me at something.
I bite my lips together to stifle my laughter.
Me: I miss you! When are you coming to visit again?
G-Dawg: When are you coming to visit me, girl? I can’t be expected to do all the traveling. You better get your butt down here sometime soon. It’s a real pretty drive.
I balk and shake my head.
Me: It’s nearly a 7-hour drive. Are you crazy? And I can’t afford to fly right now.
G-Dawg: The drive would do you good.
She follows it up with a GIF of Queen Latifah telling me to go out there and slay.
I roll my eyes and wrap up the conversation. She’s always telling me to get behind the wheel again, but…
Squealing brakes, shattering glass, and the crunch of metal whip through my mind—stinging, haunting memories that turn my insides to granite. My muscles tense as I try to ward off that harrowing chill of what it felt like to open my eyes and realize I was trapped in a metal coffin.
I should have died that night.
I spent hours thinking I would.
And then I woke up in a hospital, surrounded by weeping family members and in so much pain that I wished I was dead.
But Gramma wouldn’t have it.
She took my bruised face in her hands and told it to me straight. “You take your next breath, girl. You hear me? And then you take another, because it ain’t over. You’re not allowed to die before me.”
And so I took my next breath.
I lived through the pain of recovery… and somehow, I survived the pain of losing my life yet still being alive.
I’d had it all planned.
Stanford with Nick.
Going away to college, living my best life and being stupidly happy. We’d talked about how it would all play out. He even mentioned kids one day. He always thought ahead, living five years down the road. He had a ten-year plan for us, and I was there for it. Every step of the way.
But then Nick turned out to be the world’s biggest dick.
Because he took one look at me in that hospital bed and couldn’t handle the change of plans.
So, while I lay in traction, he boarded a flight to Stanford and sent me an email—a fuckingemail—telling me how he didn’t think things would work out after all. He made it sound like he was doing me this huge favor by ending things.