I was shaking from shock, rubbing the goosebumps on my forearms. And you just left me there, on the steel bumper of the ambulance, your suit coat draped over my shoulders.
The SWAT team, emergency personnel, and news crews swarmed, a blur of placid faces. A twenty-something uniformed female recited a textbook script full of medically relevant terms she’d memorized for people like us: “victims of near-death experiences.” I breathed in your scent and wondered who was telling you what you felt. – © 2021 Portia July
(To be continued…)
Portia July 