Where it Began

My grandmother knew the exact moment I was born. She was sitting in the passenger seat of my grandfather’s navy blue Jeep Wrangler. Speeding down the New Jersey turnpike, the windows trembled against rushing air. She closed her eyes and said, “I just heard my baby granddaughter cry.” Every time she tells this story, I imagine my first guttural wail transcending miles of houses, trees, and pavement. I think what a crude force even then was my unrelenting fear, its velocity, its volume, its stamina.