I find I think of her more often now. There is time and space between the reality and the memory. Brushing her hair from her face so I could see her eyes and touch her neck will always be with me, a part of me.
I don’t remember any sounds. Most remarkably, I don’t remember the heat; it seems I am always aware of the heat. It was August and I was alone with her in a car. I am unsure of the exact time of day, but it was mid day.
Her father had told me he didn’t know where she was, didn’t know where any of them were. I had already found his wife and mother in law, that was easy, alarmingly easy.
I looked around and I knew where she was. I had already walked right past her once and hadn’t even known it. I took the heavy steps toward her, each step taking me out of time and myself; each step steeling me for the discovery.
When I got to the car I couldn’t see in. The windshield was broken and the car was on its side, passenger side down. I don’t know how I climbed up, but there I was, lowering myself down into the car. She had been hiding in the front seat, buckled in to be safe. Her skin was so smooth on my hand as I lifted her chin.
I brushed the hair away from her face and I knew. Her eyes were fixed and saw nothing. Her neck revealed no pulse. I had no feeling in that moment, there was more to be done back out there, 3 others still alive and needing to be tended to. It took some time for me to get out of the car and I was eerily calm.
My daughters in some way have brought this back to me. She was 9 and I was 20. I have a 9 year old now. We shared an odd and very peaceful moment. She was so sweet and quiet; a peaceful island, literally suspended, in eternity; a peaceful island in a day of unbelievable violence and loss. For a moment we were connected by fate and seemingly random events.
I wish I knew her name.
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