Severed Head

I saw a severed head once.

It was the summer before my senior year of high school. We had only been on summer vacation for about two weeks, so most of the kids who had recently graduated were still around, enjoying their last days as social kings and queens before heading out to college. I don't remember what day of the week it was, or what time of day. You'd think that those kind of details would stick in my mind.

Terry was going to college on a full football scholarship, so his parents used some of the money they had saved for his education to buy him a graduation present. A Kawasaki Ninja. Every day he would go to the YMCA to lift weights, and his route went right by my house. The main road through our little town was two lanes in one direction and one lane in the other. Terry was travelling on the side with one lane, riding uphill, just before a bend in the road. He made a move to pass the car in front of him, and just at that exact moment, a semi came from around the bend. He never saw it coming.

We all ran out of our houses when we heard the crash. My house faced the road, and the row of houses across the street from my house had the road against their back yards. There was a cluster of people back a ways from the accident scene, and as I walked over I wondered what they were doing. There was a huge crowd of people a hundred feet away, so why were these few standing back? My parents were at work, or they probably would have stopped me from going outside. I walked over and followed their gaze to a helmet, and then to a red line that went from the helmet to the blond hair about three feet away. The face was turned away from us. Fortunately all we could see was the back of his head.

I ran home as fast as I could to keep my brother from going outside. I don't remember if I was sick or if I cried. The next few hours seem to have faded from my memory as well. But some parts of that day will always be with me.

See, Lora, some fears aren't as unfounded as you think.