Late at night a car speeds down the freeway in Los Angeles, weaves across lanes, overcorrects and slams into the cement abutment beneath a freeway overpass. All four passengers are drunk and unbuckled, including my brother. Jay breaks his neck, becoming a quadriplegic. In the ICU, a metal band circles his shaved head, bolts screwed into his skull, his skin swollen and angry-red. I touch the top of his shoulder, saying, “Hey, Jay.” His eyes flutter open. My body turns, and I violently throw up on the floor. I feel profound relief for myself. He will never touch me again.
Trisha Prosser's micromemoir, "At Ten," appeared in Five Minutes in May 2025. She was a 2024 Semifinalist in Tulip Tree Publishing's Story contest. Facebook: Patricia Wyman Prosser Instagram: @pjango2011