US Route 302 and Albion Road
Windham, Maine
August 1965?

I lay sprawled across the old style bench front seat of the car. My 12 year old legs propped on the center hump and my head against the handle of the passenger door. I had been intently studying the box of shotgun shells during the ride home from the lake.

My brother had just gotten his license. As I sprawled accross the seat the sun played through the trees as we traversed the country roads.

I was not excited to be riding with him. The relationship had never been good. I was born an RH baby on Mothers day in a difficult delivery in which both mother and son almost died. My 3 years older brother had never gotten over the shift in attention. Attempts at a Resolution had preceded today. At 18 months I was thrown down the stairs of 547 Main St Westbrook suffering a broken collar bone. The first of a series of sudden attacks that seem to come out of nowhere with no warning. At Six there had been the game of Pirates on Easter morning, where of course I "walked the plank" with my new red Easter tie as the blindfold. My brother had awoken me with a super nice "lets play" tone in his voice. It seemed thrilling to have suddenly become liked. He posed me kneeling on the edge of the top bunk bed with a blindfold made from a tie wrapped around my eyes. I heard and felt him maneuver behind as I wondered what Pirates was all about. He braced his back against the wall, put both feet in the middle of my back and launched me across the room with a sudden kick. The target was an acorn topped wooden bed post sticking straight up all by itself. I got six stitches in my head and blood all over my New Easter Tie in exchange for my misplaced trust. The pointed wooden acorn top missed my eye by about three inches. I was kind of a sucker as a kid, this wasn't the first time for that sort of thing nor would it be the last. Thirty years later, my sister laughingly telling the story at a christmas party, all but ended our relationship. I found the expectation that I laugh too, about a brutal, possibly deadly attack finally to be totally unacceptable.

But today, I had been thankful for the peaceful ride. I sat there studying the box of shells studiously and peering at my Brother at the wheel. We sat there at 302 and Albion Road for a long pause. I stirred beginning to wonder what was going on, what was taking so long, what was he studying over my head so intently. As I looked, my brothers neck craned back and forth as he seemed to be carefully examining the on coming traffic to the right. The intersection provided a clear and unobstructed view.

He slammed his foot down on the accelerator and the car took off with a roar. A short roar, followed by a tremendous crash as the car whirled in circles from the impact of the oncoming auto. The Car, and all, spun around in a dizzying whirl amid crashing and screeching sounds.

The other driver approached the car hurriedly, opened the passenger door and got me out. He was profuse with apologies worry and panic all at once. Simultaneously he was thanking God and anyone who would listen (including my father when he arrived), that he had been able to abruptly turn his car and only hit the front passenger tire, nearly separating it from the vehicle. But for that I would have been killed outright.

As the adults stood in a gaggle around the car I remember the voice of the distraught driver floating over the sound of the passing traffic as he spoke directly at our father... "But he was looking right at me...".

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The first Archaeological Proof of the history of the Bible, Torah and Quran