Passing by car by the place where the accident had occurred, she saw every piece of twisted metal and the broken glass remaining portions. Really small perfect squares that sparkled like diamonds when hit by the sunlight. Two bodies lying down already covered with black plastic. The hand of one of them, loose and uncovered could be jammed at anytime by a passing car. She took a good look at that hand and recognized it.
The birthmark, on the back of the hand, looking like a tiny map of Italy. Same position, same hand. Exactly that one, which she had kissed so many times, sucked its fingers and held while walking on the streets. The same damn hand that had caressed her hair, supported her falls, settled on her neck, touched her lips, massaged her feet, played with her bellybutton, held her breasts, pulled her by the waist, moved between her thighs, gone inside, created the most intense sensations in her body and one day wave her goodbye, indifferent.
With tears in her eyes, she waved the lying dead body back, in a very shy and bashful way. Then, she positioned the only hands she had at that moment on the steering wheel and moved on.
