Here is the last image I have of the island. Driving toward the ferry—or was it a
bridge?—the rain was heavy, or there was fog. Looking back one last time, I saw the
image of the island rising in the sideview mirror. Minutes later, I was still looking
at it—and the image of the island in it—when I collided with a parked car. My mirror
with its mirror.
What the image means—one mirror colliding with another—I can’t be sure. What remains
of it in me—having left the island long ago—is the look on my face when it shattered.
