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I could tell by the garage sale that dad got the job in Schenectady. The motorcycle, the fish tank everything is for sale. trying to watch the guys force the trampoline in the moving van was pretty depressing. I think he sold the laptop, because he told us no more Facebook or social media of any type, he was afraid that our friends would find out where we've gone. The phone has been shut off for days, we were told to come right home from school. All of our "see you next year"s seemed pointless, and like a lie.
He's over talking to the neighbors we've never met, in his flip flops, nylon shorts and without a shirt, I hope they don't judge us by his receding hairline, and bad sword/snake tattoo.

The neck

She was angry. Angry that he couldn't look at her anymore. They were trying to outrun the stereotype. Trying desperately to prove an interracial couple, with 17 years between them, could survive. She had to go to work. Her security job, in the parking lot of the court house, didn't pay a lot, but, it paid just enough for them to pay the rent and have cable. She was angry. So angry she had to tell all 147 oh her "friends" just what he had done.
She had no idea that telling her story, while at the helm of her '95 Buick lux-o-bomb, would cost that guy his neck.
That guy, that she didn't see, was just a guy, going to work, he had to be there early for a meeting. She didn't think about the day to day. Who would mow the lawn? Who would walk the dogs? Who would tie his shoes?... Who would clean the feeding tube, or the catheter...? Who would ask him to wash a load of clothes, then half a question later, would realize, he is no longer capable?
These are the things Sandra didn't think about, during her blind rage, during her questions, during her time of doubt.
1.4 seconds could've separated the two of them for a lifetime. Just two vehicles filled with likes, distastes, and a combined distrust of humanity, and who knew that they'd be part of one another's lives forever. The court proceedings, the scumbag attorneys, the apologies, the absolute, unforgiving, failure to acknowledge or accept the apologies. These are the things they now have in common. The hated from one family to another, almost a hatfield and McCoy, situation.
The armored jacket, the helmet, the gloves offered no consolation. Just lifeless objects that had let him down. Sure, they did what they were designed to do, they gave their "lives" to protect him, but, in the eyes of his family, fell just a millimeter short of the mark.
1.4 seconds.
They were, at their core, the same. Upset, hurt, and traveling. One to work, one to her auntie's.
1.4 seconds. That's all that was needed.
Shoulda stopped and got that breakfast burrito, both thought, 1.4 seconds apart.
The police were shaking their heads. The EMTs were judging her, she knew it. He knew they were judging him as well. "Who would ride that?"
The anger was gone now, the rage expired. It was all guilt on one side of this fence, and absolute hatred on the other. No in between.