Kayla Deskins

The Curse of Klutz

It wasn’t late, about 7 o’clock, but the weak winter sun was long set. My mom turned off the ignition, having just pulled the car up to the small island of gas pumps in the crumbling parking lot of the gas station near our house. I hopped out of the back seat of the car, sensing my mom’s impatience as she walked around the car towards me with quick strides. I wasn’t sure why she was in a rush, but I have always enjoyed being helpful, so I turned to shut the car door behind me (a new habit at 7). Unfortunately, I did this just as my mom closed the gap between us and pushed the door shut from behind me. I heard her sharp intake of breath, and then she screamed.