He’s driving fast toward the town lights.
Pray harder than you’ve ever prayed before.
But what’s wrong? Is it Shirley?
Hail Mary full of grace… Is it Mom?
His tears shine in the dashboard lights.
Mom’s already there.
I shouldn’t have said let her go… I shouldn’t have…
Pray it’s not too late.
He doesn’t slow down till we reach the pool.
Are we in time?
Wait here. He leaves the car door hanging open.
Darrell. It’s Uncle Don’s voice. Uncle Don’s arms.
Let me go! Where’s Shirley?
But it’s so bright I can’t see.
“Writing orders chaos. Words make sense of silence.” – the writer