By Wendy Reed
On a wet Tuesday morning in 1996, Wendy Reed's vehicle hydroplaned, crossed an interstate median, and crashed into an oncoming vehicle, whose motive force used to be 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 hurricane of guilt and recrimination, in addition to jarring criminal complaints over the coincidence. In An unintentional Memoir, Reed, an award-winning documentary filmmaker, issues the lens at herself and explores that coincidence and a succession of private studies 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, improper humans, disastrous occasions, and moments of non secular grace. Taken jointly, this choice of intentionally fragmented essays and brief tales turn into a meditation on topics comparable to paintings, kin obligations, demise, and elevating a...
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Extra resources for An Accidental Memoir. How I Killed Someone and Other Stories
She barks. Her voice hasn’t melted, that’s for sure. On second thought, maybe I’ll just go back home and lie down. If I could’ve, I probably would’ve. But my balance was getting a little suspect. I cleared my throat and leaned in. “This is rather embarrassing,” I start, only to have her interrupt me. “No, this is an Emergency room in a Hospital,” she says, like I can’t read all the signs. “We take care of Emergencies here. ” I didn’t know someone could speak in capital letters. No, ma’am, not an Emergency anymore, I think, determining to go outside and throw up rather than listen to her bark at me some more.
It’s so unbelievable I want to call someone. You’re not gonna believe this. On second thought, better not. They may think I’m nuts. Dead. Dead. Dead. What a word. It rhymes with everything: Bed. Fed. Head. Jed. Keds. Led. Med. Ned. Ped. Red. Said. Ted. Ved. Wed. Zed. Dead. And if I’m dead, my body will be dead. Spread out on the tile-stamped linoleum like a bad throw rug. One that doesn’t even match. Well, this is unexpected. It won’t do at all to be findable so I’ve got to destroy the evidence.
Fatigue, I’ve learned, can sabotage any coping mechanism. Sleep deprivation is the leading cause of disease in the country. It’s sure made my head hurt. Given enough time, it can strip a body to the quick. After the Unisom and tequila, something occurs to me. I won’t wake up tired—I won’t wake up at all. Unbelievable. I’m about to be dead. It’s so unbelievable I want to call someone. You’re not gonna believe this. On second thought, better not. They may think I’m nuts. Dead. Dead. Dead. What a word.
An Accidental Memoir. How I Killed Someone and Other Stories by Wendy Reed