How We Found Each Other

by Carol Deminski

I was the forty-two year old man in the running shorts and you were the girl walking across the parking lot with the high heel sandals.  You were stunning. I watched you saunter to your convertible and drive off.  You reminded me of a girl I dated in college.

I was the woman walking across the parking lot to my red Mustang.  I bought a bottle of water because I was thirsty.  I got in the car my father gave me when I graduated college. I put my designer handbag on the seat, opened the bottle and sipped the water.  My best friend sent me a text asking me to join her for lunch.  I revved my engine, checked my hair in the rear view, and took off.

I was the EMT that extracted you from your car and you were the woman who broke her neck in the accident. Your sports car was totaled. When I loaded you into the ambulance you were  incoherent.  I checked through your purse and found your driver’s license; you were twenty-two. I held your hand on the way to the hospital and told you it was going to be alright. I don’t think you understood a word I said.

I was the drunk driver who collided with your fancy car with my pick-up. My boss is an asshole. I’m trying to make a living, and he’s cutting back on my hours. I can’t afford to pay rent on the crap salary he’s paying me. Going back to the can is a damn sight better than working for a jerk who thinks he can piss on me anytime.

I was the father of the girl in the car accident and you were the son-of-a-bitch who hit her. I saw you bloodied on the stretcher in the emergency room, but I didn’t know who you were at the time. The cops told me later, said you’d probably wind up back in jail.  If I’d found out, I would have beaten you to a pulp. Jail is too good for you. You killed my precious girl, my only child.


Carol Deminski’s stories have appeared or are forthcoming in PANK, Dogzplot, Metazen, Jersey Devil Press and elsewhere. Her blog is
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