Narrative Essay, 20 January 2006

This piece was the first time I attempted to use emotion in a school paper. In fact, I think it was the only time. It worked, I suppose, I got an A. Of course all my papers got A's back then. I suppose the better litmus test is that it made my mother cry when I read it to her. So there's that. What's interesting too is that I don't believe I had ever driven a car at this point, either. So why I chose this subject matter? Not entirely sure. Nor am I entirely sure that the events I portray could have logically happened. Arrest a 16 year old for that? Probably not going to happen.


It was supposed to be one of the best days of my life. I mean, I was finally driving alone! Instead, it turned into one of the worst days. I was just cruising along, enjoying both the bright, sunny day and my new-found "freedom." Twenty-five was the speed limit, and that's exactly how fast I was going, no faster or slower. I was watching the road, too. It would be just like me to have something horrible happen my first day of driving.

I saw the little girl that jumped out in front of my car. I heard her screams as they mingled with the screech of my brakes. I felt the thump as my car struck her tiny body and sent it hurtling into space. Somehow I remembered to put my car into park and turn on the flashers before I rushed out of the car. I almost flew to the side of that tiny, huddled body. I looked desperately for signs of life, but I could not find any. Where were the girl's parents? Why were they not watching her? I waited perhaps a minute, then I rushed to the nearest house. I rang the doorbell and pounded on the door.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" I yelled.

Finally a lady came to the door. "Can I help you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Please ma'am, can I use your phone?" I pleaded. "It's an emergency."

When I reached the phone I was struck with a moment of indecision. Who should I call first? I decided to call my dad.

"Please answer," I whispered. "Please, please, please."

"This is Galen," my dad answered.

"Daddy?" I said. "Daddy, I-I just hit somebody with the car. I think she's hurt really bad."

"Did you call 9-1-1 yet?" he asked.

"N-no."

"Well, you need to do that first. Tell me where you are and I'll come right away."

After giving him directions to where I was, I hung up the phone. My hands shook as I picked it up again and dialed 9-1-1.

"This is the 9-1-1 Center, Indianapolis. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"I-I hit someone with my car," I stuttered. "I think she's hurt really bad."

"What is your location?" I gave her the street name and what I thought the numbers around me were.

After I hung up the phone, I turned around, looking for the lady who had let me use her phone. I almost jumped, because she was standing right behind me, looking as if she had listened to every word I had said.

"Did you hear all that?" I asked her.

"Yes," she replied. "Who did you hit?"

"A little girl," I said, "It wasn't my fault. She ran out in front of my car. C-could you come with me and see if you know her?" She nodded wordlessly.

Take a time out for a second. This may seem like it took an eternity; it definitely seemed that way to me, but it did not. When the lady and I rushed back outside, the sun was still shining, my car was still sitting there, and that small, still form was still lying there where it had been thrown by my car.

The lady rushed to her. "Why, that's little Deanna from down the street!"

At that moment, screaming sirens and flashing lights announced the arrival of several police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance. Policemen piled from their cars while two EMTs rolled a stretcher over to Deanna's mangled body. "Oh, my--!" One EMT stifled an exclamation.

I am not sure what happened next. My memories are a haze of flashing lights, rough policemen, and the piercing voice of the girl's mother. From what my dad told me later, the police came close to arresting me for reckless endangerment and failure to call 9-1-1 immediately. Since they could not prove I was driving dangerously, and there were no witnesses, they let me go.

I had no idea at the start of that day what would happen before it closed. If I had known, would I have done things differently? Sure, I would have. I would have gone slower than the speed limit. I would have watched closer for movement between parked cars. I might even have taken a different street. Was the accident my fault? No, but I had to live with what I did. Could I have prevented it? I do not know, and I will never know. No matter if it was my fault or if I could have prevented it, the memories will haunt me the rest of my life. Sometimes I still see a small face, once bright with laughter, now covered in blood. That is why I urge you to stop, take a minute, and evaluate what you are doing. It may not be the life of someone else you snuff out; it could be your own. Are you prepared?