Preface part 2. Didn't read the
preface? Don't worry there's more. Here is a retelling of a major
event that affected the printing of KTL.
~~~
I smile and duck my head at passing
employees in the hall so they feel secure at their workplace. It
would be awkward if one were to give me assistance or run in panic at
the sight of me.
When I get to the washroom mirror I
can finally see what they see.
The scrapes and bruises on my face look like they could be from a
brutal fight. However, I've been with Elaine, my warmhearted and
soft-fisted writing mentor. We communicate through words and trips to
the coffee shop, not whatever back-ally dispute you were imagining.
Elaine also tells me that she trusts me; she said those words twice
from the passenger seat as we drove into Calgary.
I'm driving southbound on 64th
street when we spot our destination and slow to make a turn. In an
explosive shudder we are impacted from behind. Like the distorted
refractions of streaming water, perception is blurred. Tense but
feeling nothing.
“Karla.” Elaine says my name
softly as if over parched lips.
My name, from a parent or friend,
means either pay attention or you need to perform an action. We are
drifting toward the opposite side of the road into oncoming traffic.
I guide the car to a stop, parallel to the curb, though not legally
parked.
With the sounds of breathing in an
artificial quiet, I take stock of my body. Television often tells me
that shock can mask a serious injury from sensation. I push the
'shifter' into park, having to brush past Elaine's knee to do it. Her
arm is around me. We stay in place.
A knocking on my window yanks me out
of the moment. A man is there; he wants to know if we are all right.
I open my door and the words “I'm good” are meant to be the
equivalent of “I don't need to be carted off to the emergency room
at this moment”. Later I discover he was the oncoming traffic that
could have caused a second impact if he hadn't been paying attention
at the right moment. He commits to never text and drive.
Witnesses and onlookers gather. Elaine
gets out. Fire, ambulance and police show up. I spend most of the
time resting rattled limbs and being thankful the emergency people
are nice and not grumpy about being made to come out here because of
us. A postcard sign at the base of a pole reads: 'Junk cars for cash'
with a phone number. I laugh and point it out to Elaine. She laughs
too. Elaine gets back in the car to give thanks to God. I shudder
with a perspective on this reality and my dry eyes are ready to tear
up.
Employees from the adjacent business
come out, having heard or seen the accident. They ask where we are
trying to get to (as the car is no longer a viable option). Elaine
explains the humour of the situation, that we are coming to see them.
Back in the washroom, available at the
hospitality of the printer business, I finish inspecting my visage
and return to the board room. Here awaits the printed proof of my
self published book of poetry. A tangible copy to embody the
persistent work, time and creativity that went into creating it.
~~~
This is just one chapter in the journey
that ended in the publication of Kindling the Light.
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