You Have to Continue, You Have to Hurry

You Have to Continue, You Have to Hurry fiction he day Freddo got hit by the car, I was standing on the front landing in my basketball shorts smoking a joint while my wife cursed at the phone company inside and the kids played in the sprinkler. I'd been staring at my neighbor Deirdre's car, an aging black Lexus, which she kept Peter Mountford Photo by John Eisenschenk immaculate. The kids had a game involving the sprinkler and a red ball and running around shrieking, and it was in the course of playing that Freddo charged out into the street in pursuit of the ball, and then I saw him, so I screamed, and the driver of the gray sedan looked at me instead of the road. The tires squeaked and the bumper smacked my child's shoulder, and I yelled and his head slammed audibly onto the pavement. My first thought was that it didn't look fatal. But I was already running to the road on the wet grass, saying, "Fuck! Fuck! Oh, my God! Fuck!" The driver started to say something as I picked Freddo up, but I was already yelling back to the girls standing, stunned and soaked, that I was taking him to http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

You Have to Continue, You Have to Hurry

The Missouri Review, Volume 39 (4) – Jan 5, 2016

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

fiction he day Freddo got hit by the car, I was standing on the front landing in my basketball shorts smoking a joint while my wife cursed at the phone company inside and the kids played in the sprinkler. I'd been staring at my neighbor Deirdre's car, an aging black Lexus, which she kept Peter Mountford Photo by John Eisenschenk immaculate. The kids had a game involving the sprinkler and a red ball and running around shrieking, and it was in the course of playing that Freddo charged out into the street in pursuit of the ball, and then I saw him, so I screamed, and the driver of the gray sedan looked at me instead of the road. The tires squeaked and the bumper smacked my child's shoulder, and I yelled and his head slammed audibly onto the pavement. My first thought was that it didn't look fatal. But I was already running to the road on the wet grass, saying, "Fuck! Fuck! Oh, my God! Fuck!" The driver started to say something as I picked Freddo up, but I was already yelling back to the girls standing, stunned and soaked, that I was taking him to

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Jan 5, 2016

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