The Day I Was Killed: My Glitch-in-the-Matrix Experience
Author’s note: This story is 100% true to the best of my memory. I have told it a few times before to friends, and it is always spurred conversations about what could have happened. Glitch in the matrix? Quantum immortality? Jumping parallel universes? What is your theory?
The setting: the mid-1990s. On a rural back road in South Mississippi.
It was springtime, and the air was flush with the promise of rebirth. It was a season that heralded the end of an era for my best friend and me. In just a few months, we’d toss our graduation caps skyward and bid adieu to the hometown that had sculpted our young lives.
My best friend’s dad, the owner of a used car lot, had recently acquired a fun little car — a Mazda convertible, sporty and practically begging for a joyride. It was a two-door manual that brought up memories of Ferris Bueller’s iconic day off.
His dad trusted used cars as much as any of us do, so he made a point of road-testing new additions to ensure he didn’t earn the reputation of peddling lemons. He was busy that day in the office, so he tossed us the keys and sent us off to give it a test drive around the rural backroads of the Pine Belt.
