A trip for bagels sounded like a good idea.
In hind sight, the ride down Fifth Street had started six months ago. One minute, it was just another day in paradise. The next we were in the five stages of grief.
Out of nowhere, Laura slammed on the brakes and our car screeched to a halt. “Other side of what?” she shouted at me.
“What are you talking about?” I shot back.
Before I knew it, she was in the middle of the road, screaming at construction workers 10 stories high. Cars blared their horns. It was only then that I saw the closed sidewalk sign.
I calmly got out of the car and walked through the mayhem. “You have to stop,” I said when I arrived at her.
“No, they need to stop or someone’s gonna die,” she screamed.
I put both arms around her and held her tight. “You need to stop blaming yourself. Sometimes in life, there’s just no clear signs to warn us of bad things,” I assured her.
“Why not,” she yelled. She then broke down sobbing in my arms as a strange life force enveloped us. Cocooned, we knew we were stronger than the grief.
(Submitted as part of Sunday Photo Fiction)