After Receiving the Prognosis that She Would Always Need a Walker
by Trudi Young Taylor
She pushed through the doors, hobbled to her car, and slammed the door shut. She screamed until there was no more air in the car. She screamed as the surgical boot smirked at the backseat’s collection of dancing shoes. Screamed.
She put the car in gear and wrenched it into traffic on a four lane rural highway. She screamed until she found the exact place – an overpass bisecting a field of cow shit.
Her eyes off the road, she unbuckled her seatbelt to reach back and stroke the nicked heel of her favorite shoe.
In silence, the car pirouetted over the asphalt, leaping into the air.