And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

(Cross-posted from Daydream Believer, since y’all said you’re cool with it. And now with more LJ-cut tags!)

I have this scar on my right hand. It’s not a huge scar–it’s about a half-inch long, nestled between my second and third knuckles–but it’s a memorable one. I got it when I was sixteen, on a sunny Friday morning in the fall. School was out that day, for a teacher’s meeting or something along those lines. My friends and I, being teenage girls of driving age, decided to take ourselves to the mall.

That morning, my friend Stacey picked me up in her car. I’m not sure why she ended up being the designated driver for that day. I had my license, but I wasn’t yet allowed to drive as far as Tulsa. I’m not sure what kind of insane troll logic convinced my parents that it was okay for another newly licensed sixteen year old to drive me that far instead, but they let me go. I’m not sure why Tess, the third member of our little party, didn’t drive, but I suspect it was because we were too far out of her way, and it made more sense for us to pick her up on the way into town.

So there we were, Stacey in the driver’s seat, me riding shotgun, traveling back country roads on the way to pick up Tess. We were about a quarter of a mile down a slippery gravel road when Stacey announced her famous last words, “Watch this!”

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