Grace/ Mr. Theriault: Backstage at the Garden of Eden
Isabelle’s phone rings in her purse. She reaches for it. The sapphire sky expands across the intersection as she approaches.
*Teddy* ticks across the screen. She fumbles with the speaker button.
“Hi love, I'm almost home. I just stopped to…”
The other car shears Isabelle's car in half. It comes through the drivers side carrying her entire body across the seat, through the passenger door. Glass, metal, bone and blood flies like confetti in a death celebration. The slow motion wave crashing on shore droplets hanging in the air then plummeting.
Valentine cards flutter in a loving tribute. Isabelle’s front seat had been piled with cards from the elementary school children she taught. Witnesses, stepping out of their cars, caught the cards as they floated on the summer breeze.
*'You’re my favourite teacher'.* *'Be Mine'*. *'I Love you, Mrs. Theriault'*. Big, hand-drawn hearts and letters to the teacher they loved.
The other car’s momentum carries debris through all lanes of traffic and rests across the intersection. The horn stuck, blares pointlessly. Witnesses’ screams and shouts give way to the intensity of sirens.