Britt Haraway

Vision

Because I’m your brother, Jerry said, that’s why. Jerry and Susan were driving away from the airport. She hadn’t seen him since he got out of jail. I suppose no one is the devil, Susan said. Susan always made good choices. At their parents’ divorce hearing she had told the judge she wanted to live with her father. Jerry had never stood up like that. So I should’ve written you letters, she said. She shivered. Just like me again, he said. There’s a coat in the back. She grabbed his Air Force jacket and put it on. You were almost a colonel, she brushed the name badge. You used to dress up for me, he said, as she put on the coat. I was always awkward, she said, especially back then. He swerved in the road and skidded in the grass in the median of the highway. Turtle, he said and got out. She stuck her head out the window to see, the cold wind blowing her hair. The turtle had stopped moving as if interested in the reflector. Two cars avoided it. Jerry walked in the emergency lane, his hand up, “stop,” like the Supremes. As he got parallel to it, a sedan ran over the turtle and its shell crunched easily like a can. The car hit its brakes twice then kept driving. Jerry stood looking after it, his legs spread wide like a cadet at ease. When he comes back, she thought, I’ll tell him how proud I am that he tried, that it had been the exact thing to do.

Britt Haraway graduated from the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, where he studied literature. He received his M.A. from the University of Southern Mississippi in 2004, and has since earned his Ph.D., which will be awarded by the university this December. More of Britt's work can be found online in Product.