Lucy woke with her face to the concrete. The fuzzy seam of the sidewalk loomed, stretching from her eye to the street. A dandelion was starting to grow. Its green fronds spread out, ready to soak up the sun. From beneath her chest, the left forearm that had taken the brunt of the fall throbbed. A sting radiated around the still open wound. Her legs were apart, pelvis to the ground. It took her a moment to realize she had a right arm. The appendage was twisted over her head and had fallen asleep from staying in that position.
The moon had descended hours ago. Slowly, Lucy rolled over onto her back. With her left arm cradled in her lap, her right arm pins and needles, she tried to remember what had brought her here. Knee bent, but standing finally she looked around the street. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. There was no memory of having left the house, but Daniel’s sandals lay scuffed, straps snapped in the curb of the sidewalk. It hurt to bend down, but she picked them up anyways, then pinned them in the crook of her numb arm and hopped they would stay there.
As the morning arrived, the cool air pulled at her open wounds. She limped. The ball of her foot, now barefoot, touched the ground gingerly. Bits of dirt stuck to her heels and toes. When she reached the corner, Lucy stopped.
She was at the corner of Hawthorne St. and Maple Ave. But the streets did not ring a bell. And she did not know where in the neighborhood Hawthorne and Maple was in relation to the house. The trees to the left looked like the ones on the way to the grocery store.
A car drove by slowly. The headlights bright and disorienting in the semi-darkness of dawn. She blinked. It was a Toyota Camry, silver. It was the same as Daniel’s car. And then the car was coming back around again, the breaks emitting a sharp squeak as the tires ground against the road.