December 14, 2008
By Jillian Richardson, Pembroke, MA

“Masculine… Done, driven.” I faded in and out of paying attention. I didn’t think that the teacher would notice, I mean, either no one paid attention or they pay too much attention and make fools of themselves. I sat there and sketched on one of my papers, never knowing the outcome of the graphite until it was done. Recently, they had been rushing cars.

Mom said I had a gift. Some sort of… Foresight, or whatever. I always rolled my eyes at her. Like when I was drawing pencils all day and someone happened to drop a pencil on my desk? Pft. Right, it was all just a coincidence.

“Pst!” My head jolted up in the darkened room, looking to the left of me. “Chazz, you okay?” Lily’s brow furrowed with worry. Futile. Nothing was wrong. But if there was anything wrong, would I tell her?

I nodded for her answer, my hand never stopping on the paper. Her eyes shot down to the paper, to my face, then to her desk in the dark.

Last block went on in darkness, but I barely noticed. I let my eyes wonder around the room. Kids were jumping from their seats in mock enthusiasm; others were merely sitting in their seats, arms folded, holding their heads, or looking away from the front of the class altogether.

I let my gaze fall on to the dimly lit clock. 1:40

Three more minutes.

I waited. Two minutes.

The lights flickered on causing groans of irritation to chorus around the room. The sketch was complete.

It was a flawless drawing, but it made me shudder. It was a beat up old van, a light-ish color with a broken headlight. The snow around it made it look… I couldn’t find the word for it. Just its presence make me panic.

I shook my head at the thought. My mom must be rubbing off on me.

“Chazz!” There was a pause. “The bell rang.” Lily looked, again, worried. And all I could reply with was: “Oh.”

I gathered my things, making sure she didn’t see the drawing. Lily also seemed to believe the same as my mother. I never let her see my drawings. It was silence between the two of us to the parking lot. Some students slid on the ice in panic, others giggling as the crashed into one another.

Lily and I looked at one another after a moment, the doors to our separate cars open -- my Chevy and her Corolla.

“So…” She began, looking at the inside of her small car. “I’ll pick you up later?” I could only nod numbly before slipping into my truck.

The cold got to me before the heat did as I blasted it, the traffic unusually slow for this time of day in parking lot to the main road. My drawing came to mind, and I felt my heart start to pound.

“Calm down..” I told myself over and over. When it came my turn to look both ways on the main road, I pushed down lightly on the breaks.

I didn’t stop.

Black ice.

Panic struck like lightning. I couldn’t breathe; automatically, I tried to swerve the truck in a different direction. I saw, then, my drawing.

So fast, the tan, beat up van with the broken light honked. A screeching of tires against tar and ice -- failing.

The snow had fallen, completing it all.


The author's comments:
My latin class inspired me, during my first part, but the dangers of cars and just the adrenaline of fear when you can't control it. Then that fear of death.

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This article has 1 comment.

prouddad said...
on Dec. 26 2008 at 2:02 pm
This story pulls emotions from you that you don't want to feel. That's what makes this such a powerful one... She has some fun one's too...


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