My preteen/teen years were spent on a farm that my family built on the outskirts of my hometown. My parents still live there.
This story, however, isn't about the house. It's about the road. But, more importantly, it's about a sharp curve in the road and the death of two high school kids.
I was 19, and was home from college to visit my folks (and--probably--to bum some money). I couldn't remember what my parents and I were talking about that night, but I remember being on the staircase when I heard the sound. It was a piercing screech, followed by a boisterous and unforgettable thud that came from outside.
"Did anyone hear that?" I said.
Then there was a slow-moving silence that crept over the living room area as the three of us waited for something to happen.
Then there was a frantic knock at the door.
I hurried back down the stairs and crossed the foyer to the large front door. I then unlocked it and centered my footing, physically preparing myself before opening the door (I've seen too many movies).
Who was standing on the porch was a teenager with a familiar face. I knew I had seen him in my high school. He was a few years younger than I was, and must have been a senior at this point. I still can't recall his name, but I'll never forget the look on his face.
Sweating, crying, and gasping for breath, he had parked his car crooked in our driveway. When I asked him what was wrong, it took him a moment to compose himself enough for words to form.
"There's been an accident," he said. "Could you please call an ambulance?"
I can't remember which one of my parents called 911, but I do remember the walk along the side of the road, all the way to the end of the cornfield. I was with my father. And, together, we saw the absolute definition of aftermath.
What disturbed our sense was a ball of twisted metal that had once been a car with three teenagers contained safely inside. But, because sometimes the oats that we sow are a rotten crop, they had a need for speed that could not be satisfied before the collision. What now remained was a reminder of future possibilities cut short, and unbeknownst parents tucked safely away in houses somewhere in that darkness. Parents who will eventually receive a visitor that will change their lives forever.
The ambulance arrived, and we watched the bodies as they were cut from a metal womb and covered with long white sheets that soaked the blood like bread and wine.
There was one who had not been covered, though, but placed in one of the two ambulances and driven away like a bat out of hell. The jaws of life had freed her from the back seat.
The police office said that they must have been doing 85 down the dark country road, and only slowed to about 60 by the time they realized that there was a sharp curve.
The walk back home with dad was a silent one. And, when we got inside, the shaken kid was gone. I went upstairs to my room and turned on my electric typewriter.
The next day it was as if nothing had happened. The road was clear. The wreckage was gone. There was no blood or antifreeze pooling in the road. It was a return to normalcy.
I went to my best friend's house that night and watched some horror movies. I then got in my car and headed home around 11:30 p.m.
It was before midnight when I came to the curve in the road that claimed the lives of the teens just 24 hours prior. It was there that I could have sworn that I saw, running from the cornfield to the yard of the old farmhouse where it happened, the misty silhouettes of two teenaged guys. I thought that they were playing a morbid game of tag around the oak tree that was now stripped of bark on one side.
I could have sworn that's what I saw. A ghostly warning to slow down, and rebel within reason.
Sometimes, in darkest of nights, I still hear that sound of the collision, and shudder at the thought of the aftermath.
~Torres
Then there was a frantic knock at the door.
I hurried back down the stairs and crossed the foyer to the large front door. I then unlocked it and centered my footing, physically preparing myself before opening the door (I've seen too many movies).
Who was standing on the porch was a teenager with a familiar face. I knew I had seen him in my high school. He was a few years younger than I was, and must have been a senior at this point. I still can't recall his name, but I'll never forget the look on his face.
Sweating, crying, and gasping for breath, he had parked his car crooked in our driveway. When I asked him what was wrong, it took him a moment to compose himself enough for words to form.
"There's been an accident," he said. "Could you please call an ambulance?"
I can't remember which one of my parents called 911, but I do remember the walk along the side of the road, all the way to the end of the cornfield. I was with my father. And, together, we saw the absolute definition of aftermath.
What disturbed our sense was a ball of twisted metal that had once been a car with three teenagers contained safely inside. But, because sometimes the oats that we sow are a rotten crop, they had a need for speed that could not be satisfied before the collision. What now remained was a reminder of future possibilities cut short, and unbeknownst parents tucked safely away in houses somewhere in that darkness. Parents who will eventually receive a visitor that will change their lives forever.
The ambulance arrived, and we watched the bodies as they were cut from a metal womb and covered with long white sheets that soaked the blood like bread and wine.
There was one who had not been covered, though, but placed in one of the two ambulances and driven away like a bat out of hell. The jaws of life had freed her from the back seat.
The police office said that they must have been doing 85 down the dark country road, and only slowed to about 60 by the time they realized that there was a sharp curve.
The walk back home with dad was a silent one. And, when we got inside, the shaken kid was gone. I went upstairs to my room and turned on my electric typewriter.
The next day it was as if nothing had happened. The road was clear. The wreckage was gone. There was no blood or antifreeze pooling in the road. It was a return to normalcy.
I went to my best friend's house that night and watched some horror movies. I then got in my car and headed home around 11:30 p.m.
It was before midnight when I came to the curve in the road that claimed the lives of the teens just 24 hours prior. It was there that I could have sworn that I saw, running from the cornfield to the yard of the old farmhouse where it happened, the misty silhouettes of two teenaged guys. I thought that they were playing a morbid game of tag around the oak tree that was now stripped of bark on one side.
I could have sworn that's what I saw. A ghostly warning to slow down, and rebel within reason.
Sometimes, in darkest of nights, I still hear that sound of the collision, and shudder at the thought of the aftermath.
~Torres
