Blame

In an accident, who's to blame?

     She cries and cries, no, it's more than just crying. Sobbing or wailing maybe. I want it to stop, I understand how terrible it must be for her. It’s terrible for me. There really wasn’t anything I could’ve done and now I don’t want to do anything but stop her crying. It’s incessant really.
      The police arrive first and try to console the woman. They look at her son still under my tires and shake their heads. I lock my doors. One of them knocks on my window and tells me to step out of the vehicle. His voice is sickening, thick with disgust at me. He has no right, it could just as easily be him in my position, I didn’t cause this on purpose, I would never wish for this. He’s too cruel, he’s a monster with no capacity for sympathy and I don’t take orders from monsters. He repeats himself, a little harsher, but I don’t acknowledge him. He bangs and bangs on my door and I close my eyes and focus on the woman’s crying.
      She’s heart broken and for good reason. The poor woman, I fail to know how she can still bear her own weight let alone the weight of what she’s done. You can hardly blame a child for running into the street, it’s in their nature to put themselves in danger like that. And I was just following the rules, driving at speed limit, staying in my lane, using my lights. She let this happen. The boy can’t be older than eight, she probably though he was old enough for her to loosen her grip a little. I bet she was tired, worn out from the day, regretting ever having a child. She’s awfully thin, I can’t imagine her being fit for such a hard task as raising a child. She must have laid in bed every night wondering why she ever thought she needed a baby. Eight years of that and I’d probably be a little inattentive as well. But I’d never let something like this happen, to be so negligent as to let your own child get run over in the street, you’d almost have to want it to happen. I open my eyes.
      It's so clear now. I never could’ve stopped this from happening, it's all been planned too well. Now I can really hear her crying, that over emphasized inhale, that well timed sob, those wet convincing tears of hers. In a state of shock, anyone would be fooled by the grieving mother standing over her dead son. But I see through her now and I refuse to let such a vile creature get away with murder. The police are still at my door so I look over at them and nod. Fools. I start my engine and they run to their squad car. They think I’m trying to make a break for it, they all do. That heartless wretch still stands in the street glaring at her victim, right in my lane.

Reviews

[Marie]

THis is excellent. At first I thought the man was trying to get away from his own guilt by blaming the mother; then I see he really does put all the blame on her. The ending is wonderful.