On the day of my baptism, my dad, who was a mechanic, went out to test drive a customer's car. At the intersection of the highway and a rural road, a guy who didn't see him coming cut him off with his truck. The guy walked away unharmed, but my dad ended up hospitalized with several broken ribs and a long recovery ahead of him. More than fifteen years later, something started bothering him under his right eye. It was a shard of glass that had surfaced in his face. It had taken his body all that time to expel the foreign particle, as if it wanted to keep a memento of the trauma. When they removed it, he held the shard between his fingers, examined it for a few seconds, and put it in his pocket.