ACCIDENT
JEFFERY BERG
From my office window, I watch a boy running outside on this summer afternoon, the sun on his blond hair, his turquoise shorts clashing against the bright grass. I believe someone said he’s Larry’s son. Earlier this morning, Larry was found unconscious after inhaling trichloroethylene fumes from the Detrex Automatic Degreaser. I watch the boy climb the side of the big hill near the factory, his hands in the dirt, scrambling on his knees to the top, where once there, he spins with his arms out and his head thrown back. Today, everyone in the company is edgy about the accident investigation from OSHA. Larry’s son is throwing his shoes off the hill now, onto the bright grass, his mouth open— shouting something maybe, singing nonsense at the sky and the tips of pine trees through these parted white, vinyl vertical blinds and my palm pressed against the glass.
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