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  • "I'm ok. I'm ok. I'm. Oh. Kay."

    That was how I started the phone message. Not exactly the sort of thing you want to hear from your son, especially one as fragile as me, *particularly* when in another state at the time. And, to be fair, it was not how I intended to start it, either. Not sure I knew what I wanted to say, but even an hour later the adrenaline had me off my form.

    "The truck... isn't."

    An understatement of the highest order. They'd gotten it upright, eventually, and so it sat in the driveway where it was supposed to. Hell, you could barely tell what had happened, as long as you didn't look at it. At all.

    "There was an accident. I'm ok. Like I said. But um. What are the signs of a concussion?"

    Not two hours ago, I'd kissed Lindsey goodbye and left, a Cool Whip container full of fresh-picked blueberries in my hands and the sweet taste of a high school love on my lips. Now the blueberries were scattered across I-94, the only victim (thank the Gods) of the wreck. Well. Except for my truck.

    "I've already taken my shots, and I didn't get hurt. I'm ok. I just..."

    The other truck had given me a hell of a scare. Guy and his family. My heart was in my throat as I crawled out the window and went over to them - I knew *I* was ok, but what if... But they were fine. Shaken up, like me, but alright. And their truck was fine -- they hadn't found themselves upside down in the ditch, after all. "You're bleeding." It was just a scratch on my toe, a PSA about the dangers of driving in sandals and nothing more.

    "...anyway. Call me back?"

    I'd taken complete responsibility for the wreck, a move my insurance company told me afterward I shouldn't have. Hard to think fiscally when you realize you could have killed someone, though. I took pictures of the truck with my phone, just in case. Not sure what I was trying to document, though. Like I said; hard to think.

    "Love you Mom. I'm ok."
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