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  • Sunday, March 12, 2006

    Roof of the Mouth
    By Sean Ripple

    "Wild-eyed...that's exactly what it was. He crossed from the turning lane directly into the front end of my 45-m.p.h.-moving vehicle. That wild-eyed desperation aimed directly at me. His teeth were gnashing. It wasn't a misjudgment of rate of approach; I was used like a bullet to the roof of the mouth. You talk about against your will."

    "But he's not dead. He's going to live. Don't you take some comfort in that?"

    "Yeah, I do. What I'm struggling with though — and forgive me, I do realize how ridiculous this is — is an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy. This man had wanted me to help him end his suffering, and I failed him. It's as if I live in an aspect of the manifestation of his problem, which is his inability to find release from his suffering. That gaze, that pupil-less and without iris Greco-Roman statue glazed-over glaze, is the most convincing thing I have ever witnessed."

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