Less Than Five Miles from Home离家不到五英里

My mother and I were heading north out of Marathon1， Florida， in the middle of the night， everything we owned in the back of the car. I was thirteen， and she was driving. We were coming off an overseas bridge when someone screamed from the opposite side of the street. I glanced left for a second—a woman， long black hair， white tank top， she might have had her hands to her mouth， or I might have made that up afterward—before looking back at the road， just in time to see whatever it was we were about to run over. A crumple of fabric， the size of a throw pillow2， glowing white in the headlights. We hit the thing fast， sailed over it clear， the wheels bouncing twice and continuing on. By the time my mother could slow down and pull over， we were fifty yards3 up the road.

深夜，我和母亲北上，离开佛罗里达州的马拉松市，车后面是我们全部的家当。（剩余8492字）