Part 1

I’ve always loved the way the sky looks sometimes when it’s about to storm. You know, when the thick layer of clouds is so dark it’s almost black, but everything around doesn’t seem dark? It’s like a light grey, I guess. It was like that today, while I was driving. I knew I should probably go home soon. Especially because of the oncoming storm; because, you see, I had the roof of my convertible down. Yes, stupid idea on my part, but right now, rational thought wasn’t exactly top five on my list of major priorities right now. My mind was too crowded with irrational thoughts. Like, where the nearest cliff might be. Or how likely it would be that I would die if I drove off of it. 

No, I thought to myself, that’s too much work to find.

My next thought was that maybe if I kicked up my speed to, oh say, 120 - since I was already going 90 - and then made the sharpest left I could manage, sending my car along with myself zooming onto the opposing side of the highway, how likely it would be that I could get into an accident. Yeah, that was a very high probability. And I was probably tipsy enough to actually follow through on it. I watched as my speedometer climbed to 100. My fingers twitched on the steering wheel. Oh, how desperately I wanted to veer left. Oh, how desperately. I knew these thoughts were being caused by all the alcohol I had snuck from my pantry. Maybe. I was bound to be in trouble when I got home. My parents had already called me about ten times. Doubtless, they had discovered that my bedroom now looked like an ABC liquor store. I was so screwed. Unless of course I didn’t come home. There was always that swerving idea. 

But, then I realized that if I swerved at 120 miles an hour, there was bound to be some one who I would hit. And what if they died along with me? I would be the crazy drunk driver you hear about in all those lame driver’s ed classes. And what kind of pain would I put the family of that person through? I knew exactly what kind. The exact kind of pain I was feeling right now, regardless of my blood alcohol level. And I couldn’t be that person. I just couldn’t, because if I was, the family of that random stranger I killed would go through the same thing I did…

My eyes flutter open to the flashing of blue and red lights. What happened? I think to myself. I feel cold drizzle falling on my face. I’m lying down. I try to sit up, but something is strapping me down. I suddenly feel myself being lifted off the ground. “Hey! Hey! She’s coming to!” a voice yells, “Her vitals seem good too!” “Wh-what’s going on-” I try to ask the voice, but it comes out in an inaudible murmur. I recognize the whooshing sound of cars. I turn my head and see the highway. I suddenly remember. We were driving, he and I. Then he suddenly gasped and honked. And then there was a crash. And then there was blackness. Now I realize I’m being loaded into an ambulance. “She was stuck in there good wasn’t she? Miracle you got her out,” a new voice says. “Yeah, she seems alright though,” the first voice replies. Who was stuck? Who got out? Me? Was it me? It must be. That must be it. We were in a wreck, weren’t we? We- my heart suddenly skips a beat. Where is he? WHERE IS HE?!?! I start to struggle against my restraints. “Whoa now! Easy there, sugar! You’re alright! We’re taking you to the hospital. You’re gonna be just fine.” “Where is he?!” I cry, my voice now able to be heard. The men who I now know are paramedics suddenly look at each other uneasily. “Eh…don’t worry, hon. Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

It wasn’t.

I stand above the hole in the ground. I am the last one left. Everyone else has begun to leave. He is being lowered into the ground. I can’t believe it. How did this happen? It was a drunk driver who had hit us. It was so wet and rainy that night. We spun out after the collision and flipped over into a ditch. The car was totaled, almost completely smashed. I had been wedged in between the dashboard and the crushed passenger door. They almost couldn’t get me out. But which one of us survived? Me. I came out almost unscathed after nearly being a permanent part of the car and Cameron? The airbag. The stupid thing that was supposed to protect him killed him. It ejected so fast. It flew out from the side and hit his head, snapping his neck. He died instantly. My brother. My wonderful, perfect, amazing, loving, caring, always there for me brother is dead. He died. And I lived. Why? Why did I live? I should have died. I’m nothing special. I’m the loser in the family. I’ve got all the crap and emotional baggage hanging on to me. Him? He was amazing. Got accepted into his dream college. Was always a lead in the school plays. Had the voice of a freaking angel. Played guitar, piano. Every girl wanted him. Had more friends than he knew what to do with, yet he was a great friend to all of them. He had everything going for him. And then suddenly, he’s gone, just like that. He’s gone, and I’m still here. He was the one I always leaned on. He was always there for me, his little sis. Even when I was being ridiculous. And now he’s gone. And I’m alone. I have no one anymore. And I don’t know how to survive. I stare at the dark mahogany coffin in the ground. “Please,” I whisper, icy tears stinging my cheeks, “please come back. Please, don’t leave me.”

It’s been three weeks since the funeral. He never came back. Not that I should have expected him too. But I had held out some stupid, irrational hope that he would. And this morning, it hit me. He was gone. Gone. Never coming. I no longer had anyone to talk to. Anyone to comfort me. Anyone to look forward to be with every day. No, I was completely alone. And the thought sent me off the deep end. So that’s why I skipped school without my parent’s knowing and, after downing as much alcohol as I found, hopped into my convertible and sped away. And drove. Just drove. Not going anywhere. And as I was seriously considering killing myself, knowing that once I got home I was done for, and if I tried to crash my car I’d probably kill some one, I got another though. 

“Start over”

It was like a whisper in my mind.

“Start over”

“What?” I actually said out loud. 

“Start over”

The words began to sink in. What if…what if instead of ending myself…what if I restarted? What if I never went back home? Could I really? 

“Start over”

Yes, yes I could. And if it didn’t work, I could always come back right? Yes, of course! A sudden determination swelled inside of me. I knew exactly what I would do. I wouldn’t go back home. I’d drive as far as I could get on what gas my car had, which was a full tank, and then stop. And then, I’d figure out my new beginning. And I would forget the pain of my old life. And I’d be okay. Yes, yes, I’d start over. I slowed my car down to 85, and then remembered the fact that I was basically sloshed. Maybe, I should wait to start over. I got off on the next exit and pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot. I put up the roof of my car, just as the first drops of rain started to fall. There was a roll of thunder as I leaned my seat back. I would sleep off my stupor and then…

“Start over”

I smiled to myself as I thought about this new idea. I drifted off to sleep peacefully, blissfully unaware of the storm that began to rage around me.