Michael Johnson |
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Say Nothing My older brother Russell says we're going to shoot cars with his air rifle if I shut up about it. He makes me promise not to tell. We walk out to the woods near our farm, which backs up to a country road. The road is only about 30 feet away, but the cars can't see us, we're protected by a thick grove of pines. Russell shoots every car that comes by. There's one about every 15 minutes. He aims, tells me to be quiet, and shoots. When he hits one you can hear a loud pop and then see brake lights as the cars slow to see what's wrong. Let me shoot one, I say. Shut up, pussies don't shoot, he says. Let me just try, I'll bet I hit one on the first shot. I thought I told you to shut up? He starts to hit me hard in the chest. Stop, I say, just let me shoot one time. Here pussy, he says handing me the air rifle. One time, then you have to shut up for the rest of the day. I wait for a car. I'm nervous. The gun is getting slick in my hands. Finally, a blue mini van comes around the corner. Don't miss it, Russell says. I'm not going to, I say. The van passes right in front of us. You're going to miss it, he says and starts to take the gun from my hands. I jerk it back. Just before the van rounds the corner I get a shot off. It shatters the back window and the van looses control. It jumps the road. It seems to happen in slow motion. The van lifts off the ground and rolls twice. With each roll, small blue pieces of glass fly through the air. It slides for almost 20 yards before it finds an oak tree. The horn breaks in the crash. It fills the air with a loud, dull sound that I'm sure can be heard for miles. The horn is loud, but it seems to create silence. When we speak we cannot hear each other, it is as if we have suddenly become deaf. I run towards the car without thinking. Russell is yelling something I can't understand. There is glass everywhere in thick piles on the ground. Metal shards from the hood glare in the sun. There is a teddy bear on the ground that was thrown from the car. There is a baby's shoe. There are bodies. One is outside the van. She is a teenager about Russell's age. She moves. Her face is in the mud and her legs are spread eagle, her foot moves again. I go over to her. I roll her over and begin to breathe into her mouth and pound her chest like I've seen in movies. She comes to for a moment, she looks at me as if she is seeing an angel or a demon, I can't tell which. There is an innocence in her eyes. For a moment it feels as if we are the only two people in the world. Something hit our car, she says, I read her lips. Everything is going to be okay, I tell her. She passes out again. Russell grabs me and I pull away. He says, There is nothing we can do. But I can't hear him. The fire trucks finally come. They go to work. They cut the car open and begin to work on the family. The police come. A policeman takes us to his car. At some point they ge |