After the Accident

In line with Sue at Einstein's Bagels, the place e choed as if to say I wasn't well enough to be there. I recall the overwhelming scent of hazelnut coffee. P eople staring. M y cheek out to here. Which reminds me, what the heck was I doing there? The day descended overcast and dreary, as it does when you've been pulverized by a pickup. For some reason I'm picturing crutches. Though it doesn't seem feasible that someone with my coordination level would have been navigating them in December anywhere, much less in Chicago. The leg wasn't even broken, just deeply bruised. The huge swath of injury confounded me until I saw a photo of the truck — a Dodge Dakota whose grill nearly scraped the ground. After Einstein's, I went home. I had to take my epilepsy medicine before it got too late. The Lamictal bottles stood where I always kept them. Next to the toothpaste, enmeshed in the morning routine. I can picture the 25-milligram pills beside the 100-mil