#11- NARRATIVE!!

Rescuing a Deer in the Headlights

Two dribbles left, stop on a dime, elevate, and flick the wrist. Swish. There was no sound sweeter than the sound of the net. I could repeat this process in my sleep. I remained stone-faced as I back pedaled down the court. I ignored my teammates that were congratulating me−there would be time to celebrate after the game. Nothing could break my laser-like focus until we had won the game. I squatted down in my defensive stance and stuck to the opposing player like glue. A basket by the opposing team would mean a loss. I looked across the court and saw a player from the opposing team jump and release a three-point shot. I was seeing the ball spin in slow motion as I ran toward the basket to rebound the ball in case of a miss. I jumped and snatched the ball as it grazed off the rim. My eyes frantically searched the court for an open teammate as I dribbled down the court.

            I have to take this shot. All night I have felt like I’m shooting a golf ball into the ocean, I just know I’ll make it.

            Just as I was debating where I would take the final shot from, Jake, one of my teammates, broke free from the guy defending him, and darted toward the basket. Instinctively, I fired the pass. Once again, everything moved in slow motion in my eyes−Jake was preparing to jump for the pass, defenders were closing in, and I wasn’t sure if the pass would arrive in time. Next thing I knew, I was watching the ball drop through the bottom of the net as the buzzer sounded. I pumped my fist and ran toward Jake to celebrate our game-winning connection. Suddenly I heard a loud thud, and next thing I knew, Jake was knocked flat on his back. Several quorum members ran over to see if he was okay; he was conscious but almost completely unresponsive.

            “What happened?” someone asked. They weren’t the only ones feeling confused.

            “I got mad when we lost and I threw the ball off the wall. I didn’t realize it was going to bounce off like that, I swear.” Nobody was surprised to hear that story from Thomas, who frequently lost his temper. Thomas ran to grab Jake some water, clearly feeling responsible for the accident. We all tried to help Jake stand up and get oriented. Nobody knew what the problem was, but we could all tell that he didn’t look good−he sure didn’t look so pale and blank in church that Sunday.

            Minutes passed, and I frantically asked Jake if he was okay, and if I could do anything to help. After many attempts, I realized that he was content ignoring me completely.

            Finally, he answered, “Will, do you still want to stay the night at my house?”

            “Yeah, of course. You know I don’t want to go back home this weekend. My parents won’t leave me alone. Why do you ask?”

            “Do you think you could drive me home?” I instantly felt a pit in my stomach as he finished his sentence. I had never driven a car before. I can’t really say no after I’ve just told him fifty times that I will do anything to help.

            “I don’t have my license,” I squeaked out reluctantly. No. You can’t let him down. Driving can’t be that bad anyway, and there’s barely any traffic this late at night.

            “Actually, you know what? Yeah. Let’s go.” I stuck out my arm to offer him support as we exited the chapel and headed to his car. Wow! I’m about to drive!

            We jumped in his car, and I made a few circles around the parking lot while Jake laid quietly in the passenger seat. This isn’t as bad as I thought. He only lives about five minutes away. This will be over in no time!

Just as I was about to pull out of the parking lot and into the real world of driving, I hesitated. Should I call my parents? They’ll kill me if they find out about this. No. Never mind that. They’re too controlling anyway. I got this.

            I turned the wheel and stepped on the gas. Left, right, left again. I looked all around me constantly, fearing the possibilities of getting in an accident. I can’t get caught. I checked on Jake periodically, who was squirming in the passenger seat. Is it a concussion? Wait! Where am I going?

            “Jake!” I screamed as we passed through the intersection. “Where do I turn?”

            “Geez, chill. I’ll tell you when we get there.” I couldn’t believe how calm Jake was, considering the intense consequences at stake. Does he understand what I’m getting myself into right now? Should I be in the right lane? My seat belt isn’t on! What’s the speed limit here? I can’t get pulled over, or Mom and Dad will kill me.

            “Turn!” Jake yelled, just as we approached his street. Instinctively, I jerked the wheel, and tried to slam the brakes as I did so. I looked to my right and closed my eyes instantly, lifting my arms to protect my head as I saw two headlights collide with the car. I kept my eyes sealed shut as we were thrashed up, down, and around for the next several seconds.

            When I finally mustered the courage to open my eyes, I stared into the windshield, which was now just a blank space with shards of glass around the edges. I looked over at Jake helplessly, and he stared back at me with the same expression. This must be a dream. No way. Wake up, Will. WAKE UP! Wait, what about the car that hit us?

            I wiggled my way out the window, and extended my hand to help Jake get out of the car. We both ran to check on the passengers of the car with those two headlights that would forever be etched into my memory. As I turned to look back at Jake’s car, tears came to my eyes uncontrollably as shock and trauma overwhelmed me. The car was on its side, and we had rolled multiple times before coming to a stop. Once again, I felt a pit in my stomach as we approached the other car, which was basically crunched in half.

            Fortunately, the other car was empty, except for the driver, who was not injured in the accident. He simply nodded his head as Jake and I sincerely apologized repeatedly.

            “Will, we have to call our parents,” Jake said frankly. No. I will call the Police, I will call anybody in the world−not my parents. My hand trembled as I dialed our home phone number.

            “Hello?” I broke down as I heard Lindsey’s voice. She was just twelve years old at the time, and it hurt me to hear her innocent voice. I was terrified of telling my parents.

            “Hey Lindsey, I’m in some trouble. There’s been an accident. Could I talk to Dad, please?” I was shaking uncontrollably as I finished my request. Once again, tears filled my eyes as I heard Lindsey relay to my dad everything that I had just told her.

            “Will, what happened?” he asked calmly. He’s going to hate me. He’s going to scream at me. I’m a failure.

            “Dad, I don’t have much time to explain. I got in a bad car accident and I need you to come pick me up next to Amarillo High. I’m with Jake. We’re both okay but it’s really bad. Oh, and one more thing: I was driving the car. I’m so sorry.” I heard a click as my dad hung up the phone. He didn’t say anything. This is going to be even worse than I thought.

            Several minutes later, the Police and my dad arrived simultaneously. I watched my dad’s eyebrows raise and his jaw drop as he jumped out of the car. I braced myself for what was surely coming as he walked towards me. I was surprised that instead of lecturing me or asking questions, he simply embraced me.

            The next hour was full of questions, apologies, and total despair. Several officers asked me what had happened and why I was driving the car without a license. Many others asked Jake the same questions as several paramedics attended to him. Most of the night was a blur−I really only remember observing my father. He stood there, arms crossed, and never said a word.

            Finally, when the road was cleared, he asked, “Are you ready to go home?”

            “Please get me out of here.” We both chuckled sarcastically as we headed to the car. As we drove home, I broke down again. What if Jake had died? What if the other driver had died or been hurt? That would have been all my fault. I couldn’t stand thinking about potential outcomes that would have been much worse. The drive home felt eternal as I sat there, staring out the window, overcome by guilt and trauma.

            At last, we arrived. I entered the house behind my dad with my chin glued to my chest, avoiding eye contact at all cost. I frantically wiped my eyes, so that nobody would notice my overwhelming emotion. In my peripheral vision, I saw Lindsey, sitting at my mother's side, looking completely pale. I didn't dare turn my head to look at them. I was determined to make it to my bedroom without having to answer any questions. 

"What's wrong with him?" I heard Lindsey ask my dad as I stormed by. 

"Is he okay?" My mom's voice cracked as she squeaked out her simple question in a worried tone.

"Don't worry, he'll explain later." My dad's was the last voice I heard as I shut my bedroom door, and sprawled out on my bed.

"Do you want any company?" I was happy to see my dad. 

"Sure," I responded as I swallowed the lump in my throat and gathered my emotions.

He sat down next to my bed. I kept expecting him to say something−surely he would yell at me or punish me. It was only a matter of time. Minutes passed, and still, nothing. I flipped over and gazed at the wall, too embarrassed to say anything.

I heard the door open and close again, and after waiting a few seconds I flipped back over, thinking that my dad had left. Instead, I turned and saw my parents and Lindsey, kneeling down, staring right back at me.

Embarrassed, and caught by surprise, I flipped back toward the comfort of the wall instantly.

"Will, we're not going anywhere." I couldn't help but cry as I heard my mother's soothing voice. 

"Time for family prayer," said my dad, acting as though nothing had happened.

As I knelt down alongside my parents, there was a palpable feeling of love and concern. What my mom had claimed was true−they weren't going anywhere.