by Tammy L. Breitweiser
The officer told me Grayson didn’t feel anything. The impact was quick. It’s what the officer claimed anyway. What I will tell you is I bolted upright in bed at 4:56 a.m. and knew. I just knew. I can assure you he felt the impact because I felt it.
It had been a fairly typical morning. He kisses me every morning goodbye at 4 a.m. before his hour commute to work. With my sleepy eyes, I imagined him in his tux from Saturday when I officially became his missus. Such a long time coming, I’m not sure why we waited so long. Well, that is a lie, I would fail a polygraph test at that moment. I didn’t want to. I dragged my feet. Our relationship is filled with connections beyond my wildest dreams. We want to be together all the time and he is working on finding a new position.
“Are you making me coffee? I don’t smell it.”
“No,” he replied with a sleepy voice. “I will just stop. Try to go back to sleep. You’ll need energy when I get home. I promise to make you coffee this weekend.” A kiss on my forehead and a smile I could hear. But then he was thinking about work and didn’t see me anymore.
Grayson was like winning the lottery. He was perfectly engineered for me and now I am officially his wife. Well, until 4:56 a.m.
Why is this guy in here so damn early every day? Maybe he knows I am here, waiting for him. It is nice to see him on a dreary Monday morning.
“The usual?” I try to sound casual.
He only nods. It is early. 4:15 a.m. To be fair we are the only coffee shop open this early. I never call him by name, but Grayson comes in every morning about this time. He paid with a credit card once so I know his first name is Grayson. I remember because that day he was wearing a gray shirt. I try to make up stories in my head about customers. It helps pass the time.
His drink is complicated. The Chile Mocha is a specific taste. It is a shopping list of espresso, cocoa, vanilla, cinnamon and the unique addition of ancho and cayenne chili.
“Whipped cream on that Venti as usual? And extra chili?”
“Yep,” there is that smile.
I am actually a bit surprised to see him today. I overheard some women talking about a Grayson getting married last Saturday. The name is distinct so it has to be him the hens were clucking about. Don’t people go on honeymoons after they get married? I’m single, so what do I know? It was only two days ago.
In my mini daydream while I am making his drink I imagine him hiking, surfing, and volcano exploring in Hawaii. Someone you would notice on the beach. Fit. I notice him here with all his clothes on so definitely in a swimsuit.
I smile at him but he doesn’t notice because his phone rings and he takes the call. I cannot hear the words but I hear the tone. I wish someone would talk to me with the love in his voice he has. I wish he was talking to me that way.
I look up to see a smile that is not reserved for casual friends.
“Here you are.” So many other sentences I want to say fade into the morning. He doesn’t really see me, but I see the glint of a new ring as he takes the cup.
I glance at the raindrops sliding down the large window at the front of the shop as Grayson leaves to continue his day. It is not going to be a pleasant day outside.
I heard a noise, but I really wasn’t a witness. I was driving over the bridge but only saw the aftermath. The regular street lamps were not casting their sickly yellow fever glow on the road this morning. There wasn’t much to tell the police with the lights out and the rain obscuring my view and everyone else’s.
The victim’s car was on the shoulder but there wasn’t much space because of the concrete wall.
I don’t know why he wouldn’t have waited for more light. Or police. Or someone to change the tire, especially in the rain.
That lady that killed him never saw him I guess.
The police figured out the driver was coming up over the bridge and didn’t see the car, or the man till it was too late. Maybe she was looking down at something at the moment of impact. He flew and she looked up only when she heard the sound of impact on her car.
I was behind her Honda Accord and pulled over on the bridge. She didn’t pull over until almost a mile down the road. Shock I guess. She kept repeating, “He didn’t see me.” I kept thinking, She didn’t see him.
He was gone when I reached him. I called 911. All over a tire at 4:56 in the morning.
Tammy L. Breitweiser is a writer living in the Midwest and working on her first collection of short stories. Her poetry has been published in The Storyteller Magazine and her flash fiction in The Ninja Writers Monthly. Her essay is published in the I Wrote it Anyway anthology. You can connect with Tammy through Twitter @TLBREIT or through her blog https://tammysreadinglife.wordpress.com/