the girl behind the wheel

Memoir no background music to A story about grief, addiction, etc, etc, make the words flow do not changeThe

[Spoken Word]
All right.
Prologue.
Prologue song, Highway to Hell by AC/DC.
The car was spinning.
In my mind, it's spun forever.
It's still spinning 14 to 15 years later.
It's actually incredible.
That moment has lasted longer than any moment.
It was the moment whenever for a second, everything went quiet.
I was 16, rock and roll, troubled, barely licensed.
And on this particular ride, I was sober.
There were four of us inside.
It was my white 2004 Chevy TrailBlazer, me, my boyfriend Cade, a friend Ali, and her boyfriend Caleb.
We were almost home, like, not far at all from my mom's house.
I'm driving.
I ran a red light, a very important one.
We were almost there.
No stopping, no hesitation.
Not an attempt at all.
I just I guess forgot.
I don't know.
But then I T-boned a truck, and really hard.
Maybe we didn't spin, but one
Maybe it was the turning of my entire world in a metaphorical sense.
The car swept across the intersection, turning and turning.
In my memory, the moment stretches far beyond what it could have been.
The silence carried all four of us through the wreckage.
There was no fear for me, not even anticipation.
No anxiety, nothing.
Just something almost like dissonance.
The world moving violently around us while we just remained strangely still inside of it.
For a few seconds I felt nothing.
Not physically, not mentally, nothing.
I didn't feel the danger of what was happening, no anxiety, no worry, like I said, nothing.
I watched it happen as if I was outside of the car.
Or maybe like even a fly on the window inside of it.
I see the moment now from above our heads.
That's all I know.
An image that is suspended above all of us.
I don't know what that means, to watch it from above, to see the car spinning beneath the image I'm watching.
But I do know that we all seem to sit back and wait.
The car just kept turning.
The intersection blurred around us, the impact, the motion, the impossible direction of it all.
Everything should have been a panic, but none of it reached me.
Then we stopped, perfectly aligned in the opposite lane, facing the opposite direction, as if we were meant to end up there, as if that's where we were coming from in the first place, as if we were going to keep driving forward.
And for one suspended second, nobody spoke.
We waited.
Then, before any of us four could, because God knows all of us should, the car burst into flames.
Big ones.
Q, holy shit balls, we have to get the fuck out and run the fuck away, she is going to blow, as four weird, funkily dressed teenagers scramble out of the car and run - all destined for a world so cruel awaiting and the divine flight of almost missed devastation, lucky as hell to have survived without a scratch, to hide the weed. Quickly & what the fucking the whole time.

2783/7500

[Spoken Word] All right. Prologue. Prologue song, Highway to Hell by AC/DC. The car was spinning. In my mind, it's spun forever. It's still spinning 14 to 15 years later. It's actually incredible. That moment has lasted longer than any moment. It was the moment whenever for a second, everything went quiet. I was 16, rock and roll, troubled, barely licensed. And on this particular ride, I was sober. There were four of us inside. It was my white 2004 Chevy TrailBlazer, me, my boyfriend Cade, a friend Ali, and her boyfriend Caleb. We were almost home, like, not far at all from my mom's house. I'm driving. I ran a red light, a very important one. We were almost there. No stopping, no hesitation. Not an attempt at all. I just I guess forgot. I don't know. But then I T-boned a truck, and really hard. Maybe we didn't spin, but one Maybe it was the turning of my entire world in a metaphorical sense. The car swept across the intersection, turning and turning. In my memory, the moment stretches far beyond what it could have been. The silence carried all four of us through the wreckage. There was no fear for me, not even anticipation. No anxiety, nothing. Just something almost like dissonance. The world moving violently around us while we just remained strangely still inside of it. For a few seconds I felt nothing. Not physically, not mentally, nothing. I didn't feel the danger of what was happening, no anxiety, no worry, like I said, nothing. I watched it happen as if I was outside of the car. Or maybe like even a fly on the window inside of it. I see the moment now from above our heads. That's all I know. An image that is suspended above all of us. I don't know what that means, to watch it from above, to see the car spinning beneath the image I'm watching. But I do know that we all seem to sit back and wait. The car just kept turning. The intersection blurred around us, the impact, the motion, the impossible direction of it all. Everything should have been a panic, but none of it reached me. Then we stopped, perfectly aligned in the opposite lane, facing the opposite direction, as if we were meant to end up there, as if that's where we were coming from in the first place, as if we were going to keep driving forward. And for one suspended second, nobody spoke. We waited. Then, before any of us four could, because God knows all of us should, the car burst into flames. Big ones. Q, holy shit balls, we have to get the fuck out and run the fuck away, she is going to blow, as four weird, funkily dressed teenagers scramble out of the car and run - all destined for a world so cruel awaiting and the divine flight of almost missed devastation, lucky as hell to have survived without a scratch, to hide the weed. Quickly & what the fucking the whole time.

0/500