'Whore'

The sting of hot sand in your eyes is unforgettable.

As I watched my husband's red pick-up speed away down the dusty road for the last time I suddenly realized the importance of maintaining mudflaps on the back of a truck.

I was warned about this possibility. I prayed it would never happen. But yet here I was: standing in long white sleeves, under a blue plaid dress down to my ankles, with torn running shoes. The July sun at noon weighed down on me like the yoke on an ox and my wrists still hurt from being forced out of the passenger seat onto the side of the road.

'Whore' he yelled to me as he left.
'Whore' was the last word to leave his lips.

And there I stood. For an hour. As clouds slowly rolled in. Paralyzed, penniless and helpless, one hundred and fifty miles from Salt Lake City.

I didn't even remember to pray.

The first crack of thunder shot through my spine like a javelin...
rain...
great...
that's just great...
that's REALLY. JUST. GREAT.
that's REALLY. JUST. FUCKING! GREAT!!!
JUST FUCKING GREAT!
FFFUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKK!

...

Oh my Goodness. I just said a swear!