Something Never Forgotten

Something Never Forgotten

The movie had just ended and the picture on the television set screamed black and white fuzz. My eyes shifted to the window and were greeted by the same picture as that on the television. It had begun sleeting earlier that day. Later it turned to snow, which was still pelting the white-blanketed earth. After reading the time from my watch, three-thirty a.m., I decided I should probably head for home. My mind was thinking of the basketball practice our coach had graciously scheduled for seven o' clock a.m. on Thanksgiving Day, now less than three and a half-hours away. I recall saying something as I left to the effect of, "I'm probably going to wreck." I did not mean the words that I had said, but somehow they seemed to slip out of my mouth. My girlfriend scolded me for thinking such a thought, then sent me on my way.

There are some things in a person's life he or she will never forget. For some it may be a first kiss. For others it is the delicious smell of their grandmother's kitchen as she scurried this way and that, all the while baking and mixing and clanking and cooking.

Personally, I will never forget how peaceful my surroundings seemed as I stepped into the driveway that wistful morning. The snowflakes fell in beautiful crystalline shapes none the same as another. It was perfectly silent and the moon shone over the trees that lined the road. It seemed like such a perfect moment of frozen bliss. This was the exact middle of nowhere, five miles down some terrible dirt road in rustic northwestern Pennsylvania, so what did I expect? The air bit at my face and hands, yet it seemed so still. A chill ran my spine and my thoughts were lost. I had no idea what perils lay waiting for me.

My girlfriend watched from the door as her boyfriend's tracks faded in the snow and the taillights of his parents' Chevy Lumina mini-van faded into the darkened road.

As I had expected, the road was in terrible condition, by far the worst I had ever seen it. Extra attention surely was needed during the trip down this trail, but I was so tired and groggy. The radio was loud, and my window was rolled down, in hopes that the combination of the two would keep me from slumber. The seat belt was digging into my side and I even contemplated removing it as I drove along. But I didn't.

After about three miles, the road sloped downhill and curved to the right all at once. The van's speedometer read thirty as I approached and my foot slightly depressed the brake-pedal as I began the turn. Then everything went completely wrong. Black