By Wendy Reed
On a wet Tuesday morning in 1996, Wendy Reed's motor vehicle hydroplaned, crossed an interstate median, and crashed into an oncoming automobile, whose motive force was once killed. notwithstanding Reed and her son have been unhurt and Reed firstly defined herself as "fine," within the months that she will be engulfed in a typhoon of guilt and recrimination, in addition to jarring criminal lawsuits over the twist of fate. In An unintended Memoir, Reed, an award-winning documentary filmmaker, issues the lens at herself and explores that twist of fate and a succession of non-public reviews via truth and fiction. informed from strange views and in hugely figurative language, the tales draw at the Southern Gothic culture of Flannery O'Connor and have darkish humor, wrong humans, disastrous occasions, and moments of religious grace. Taken jointly, this number of intentionally fragmented essays and brief tales develop into a meditation on topics equivalent to paintings, kin obligations, loss of life, and elevating a...
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Extra info for An Accidental Memoir. How I Killed Someone and Other Stories
I was staring at the stack but it was the pen that was giving me trouble. I couldn’t get the clicker to go down. And she was watching me which wasn’t helping. My thumb was aiming at the clicker but it was missing the whole pen. ” she asked. I nodded. ” she asked. ” That’s how you get out of triplicate hell. But it doesn’t get you out of hospital gown purgatory. “Here,” the orderly said, handing me the gown. I’d gotten into my room and up onto the examining table. He closed the door and left. Even less-than-coherent, I knew my dress—a short, tight, one-zipper deal that made my ass look good—was supposed to come off first before the gown went on.
All of the women in Mother’s family have them. Darvon consequently was as plentiful in our house as milk. And yet from this gene pool, I do not crave any of these typically addictive substances. I don’t even gamble. At least not in the monetary sense. But then there’s that calculated risk. I had to take my clothes off to be examined by Dr. Mulligan, the HIV/AIDS research director before being approved as a vaccine volunteer. She was not a small woman, but her voice was small, quiet in the way that makes people strain to listen.
You’re not Thai. ” He points to my crotch. I look down to double-check. I don’t remember bringing a bottle opener. . ” My queen’s in danger but with that visual it’s hard to concentrate on protecting her. “I’ve seen it,” he says and shrugs. Turns out that Fon is more than a just a nickname. She is 25, an old Thai maid who wants a relationship with Danny. “Most women want the picket fence,” he says. ” I say. I move my king. ” I’m more than a dozen years older than Fon and want two things from Danny: help with my story and to drive his car, whatever the hell kind it is.