Dissociation

i remember the airbag.

I don't remember the impact, short of being jerked out of my seat.

I don't remember falling until I was already out of the car.

I don't remember the words - I just couldn't find the handle.

but i remember the airbag.

I don't remember the sobbing until it had been going for a while.

I don't remember the windshield until I saw the cracks minutes later.

I don't remember the acrid smell until looking back on it later.

but i remember the airbag.

I don't remember the details; the pink shirt and haircut are all I remember about the helping lady.

I don't remember the reassurances; I was crying too much.

I don't remember what they said; I was too worried.

but i remember the airbag.

I don't remember the fear, I was high on adrenaline.

I don't remember the walk; I was too focused on getting inside.

I don't remember the weight of my viola; I was too worried about its safety to care about much else.

but i remember the airbag.

I don't remember the skidding, I was too focused on finding what exploded.

I don't remember what he said; I couldn't find the unlock button.

I don't remember the people because I was crying.

but i remember the airbag.

i remember the airbag

because

i couldn't

breathe

hear

think

and

that's

when i

screamed.