the road to the valley is riddled with twists and turns. around one of those bends is a storage unit where i almost killed my best friend, i say to the other kids in the car. they laugh and say i'm funny when i'm drunk, but it's true. joe's blood is still on the cement, his tendons are still exposed. we were in a hurry, i mumbled, words not coming out of my mouth as i'm intending, but they're only half-listening, and joe was really skinny so he slipped in behind a desk to lift a box. he had to lift the box over a chair, and i couldn't see what was going on. the lights outside are making me dizzy, put over, man, put over now i say. whatever i just melted my debit card with wants back out, pronto, and joe asked me to move this chair towards me so he could drop a box behind it, so i did. the box fell, he did too, the top of his right hand made sweet love to the metal column holding the goddamn unit up. he turned to me, pale, quiet, and i said, you okay? we both looked at his hand, and it was open. wide open. we stared at the purple, the white, the lines crossing and weaving and all the gray, then the lava came. it started pouring out black and brown and thick and the viscosity, JESUS PULL OVER MAN, there was blood everywhere. i was certified in first aid so logically i passed out, leaving him to take off his jeans and rip them and try to make a tourniquet, and i think he made one. i don't remember much. i blacked out and then woke up and was alone on the road. there was vomit everywhere. i heard voices. kendall, get back in the car. you're cut off, and no more stories, they say, but i'm only half-listening.
