Member-only story
THE WIND PHONE
How a Deceased Teenager Taught Me Something About Adolescence
An almost unnoticed object brought compassion to the intersection of life and death
At 2 am on Saturday 12th October, a witness sees a car speeding at around 120mph through a red light at a deserted intersection. It hits something on the way through and becomes airborne, crashes through the fence of a small Private Hospital on the corner of the intersection, and disappears from view.
The driver is sixteen years old.
At the beginning of October, my daughter is violently pushed to the ground in her home. A stupid argument over nothing. It is an act of domestic violence. One of many, but as usual, the injuries are not intended. Along with an ankle, our hearts are shattered into tiny pieces.
In the immediate aftermath, I lay down on the carpet beside her and hold her hand as she screams in pain and anguish. Two loud cracks and her foot is sickeningly angled at the end of her right leg. A huge contusion glares like hot coals from her instep where the bone pushes to break through.
My daughter is a survivor who keeps her ragged little family together. Strong and independent, always battling the forces of an unforeseeable universe. But this?
