Memoirs of a Fat Girl

You could argue with me that I hadn't technically seen him die. I did not see him take his last breath as he left this world. But let me assure you that watching what takes someone's life unfold in front of you, in the most unexpected and tragic of ways, feels pretty damn real.

When I look back on it now, I can only remember snapshots.

That's the way it is with all the truly frightening moments of my life. I'm scared into forgetting any joining parts so they can't be sequential, flowing memories. The car beside Jess' window. Head on into the tree. Car in the air. Upside down on the road. Call 911. The construction workers. He's dead.

Everything after that is clear. Calling my sister, waiting for the police, giving my statement, license and phone numbers. Watching the yellow tape go up, going through the what ifs and alternate scenarios. Thank God there were no oncoming cars. Thank God for the tree or he would've ended up through a living room window. Thank God we weren't going faster, or we could have been part of it.

I noticed that Bluetooth, who is usually antsy & whines when left alone in the car, is lying down in the backseat not making a sound. I saw that my cup of tea, still in the holder and now cold, had spilled all over the car from when Jess hit the breaks. I hadn't even felt anything.

We left over an hour later, when the police gave us the okay. I held my boyfriend's hand and told him that life was too fucking short, and we weren't going to fight anymore.

The next few days were obsession. I didn't want to write. I didn't really want to do anything but watch the news and surf the internet when it was up, looking for something, anything that would tell us about who it was, and why he had been driving so maniacally.

Unfortunately, single car accidents don't lend enough drama to become front page anything. What we had seen got lost in the shuffle, with a couple of exceptions. In sympathy with my madness, a friend of mine managed to find a police report stating that auto fatality #59 of the year had claimed the life of a 19-year old male, further information withheld at the request of his family.

Nineteen. Practically a baby.

And a few days later, in total silence, when forcing ourselves to drive back that way we saw that someone had placed a white wooden cross with blue flowers in front of the tree. I didn't want to, but I made myself get out of the car and stand in front of it.

A name had been written down the side of the cross. Nicholas.