Driving home through the mountains, we passed a fatal accident, the mangled remains of a car scattered across the serpentine road. Three bodies lay tucked under plastic yellow blankets. A policeman directed traffic around the debris field, and every car in front of me progressed slowly. We had all become participants in a funeral procession. The laughter and loud singing that filled my car minutes before had dissipated, leaving a heavy silence to fill the void. I lost my passengers to their own thoughts, and I wondered if they too had noticed the shoeless foot uncovered, and exposed to the sun.
By Lisa Lerma Weber