Worth It
by Samuel LaneI felt a breakdown in my mind that night--the repeated roaring of the V8 engine assaulting my ears. Flying, flipping the headlights, we were screaming down the desert road, coming back from a badass party. I was seventeen, but of age. Andrew and Matt rocked out to the radio in the front seat, which competed with their own drunken banter. I sat in the back, and across from me sat Eve. Her long brown hair flowed in elegance with the wind, and her crystal blue eyes flirted through her locks. She had a runner’s body, and her clothes complemented her brassy personality. We were all hammered, stealing the moments of teenage invincibility.
I remember what was to come to pass that night, the way I sat and stared at the girl I knew for two short months. She wore a ring I sold everything to buy; we’d be married the moment we turned eighteen. Romantic moments were spent together that summer on Catalina Island. During those weeks I’d hold her in my arms and remind her how, with her, I finally knew what love was. With her, all the problems of the world were but grains of sand blown to the wind. I’d kiss her every moment I could; we’d fall asleep together at the group home where we both resided. But on that night, that perfect blissful night, I had kissed those soft, red lips for the last time.
The driver, my former best friend, who turned to shoot me a shit-faced grin, failed to see the
ninety-degree bend approaching in the darkness. (They tell me that most people block out horrible events that occur in their life, and in this sick way I see it as a lesson from God.) As we sped into the metal guard, the steel launching, tearing at the bottom of the muscle car, bouncing and ripping us through the air, I remember every detail etched upon my true love’s face. The fear, the hate, and the seeming blame burning in her eyes. These silent cries would one day form my shame. The front of the car clipped a tree; traveling at ninety miles per hour, it spun us free. The car flipped, and metal ripped as we slammed into the ground--only to be bounced and launched again into the night’s cool air. The engine came free, torpedoing through the hood of steel; the windows smashed and shattered. The fuel ignited, heating the iron as the frame bent and tore, and the sheet metal doors twisted and ripped. The oil fell upon us like blackened rain. Hanging in the corners of the car, silently, as though in compliant protest, swung all our seat belts left unhooked. We were invincible; we were young.I awoke because the heat made me scream. The car lay on its hood, and the underside was in flames. I couldn’t hear anything, but I felt warm liquid drip over my eyes. I knew I had to get free. So, I heaved my body through an available hole, my right leg roared in agony, but at this point it didn’t matter. I pushed on as I felt my flesh peel from my leg. Tears, mixed with my blinding pain, seemed to wash the blood from my eyes. I crawled on my stomach through all the dirt, grime, and rubble.
At some point my hearing began to return. I wish to this day it had just stayed away. When the screams reached my ears, it halted my tears and brought me back to the world. I saw the car, in its pure disgusting beauty, in bright red flames obscured within the dust and darkness. I saw Andrew in the passenger seat slumped over; I crawled to him and yanked him from the car. To this day I don’t know why I didn’t stay still; I guess I thought I would die. His leg was twisted in a grotesque display. His knee was bent backwards, but he was still alive. So, I left him there.
I crawled back to the car to search for Eve--dirt covered my exposed muscle and bone. Just as I was coming upon the car, Matt’s screams beckoned from the darkness. I shifted direction, temporarily, and crawled to him as fast as I could. It was a dream to me, a fallacy. When I found him he was a canvas of blood; poor bastard had been launched from the car into a nearby tree. A massive branch protruded from his thigh, and he had a gaping hole where there once had been an eye. He screamed and cried, yet no tears came. I couldn’t take looking at him anymore and began to vomit. Since he was still alive, I left him there to attend to Eve.
While my movements made no sense, I crawled to the car and leaned into the window. For the second time that night my hearing left me, as though an ice cold blanket had been laid upon my soul. It was that moment when I laid my eyes upon my one true love, the single girl who got me, fought and sought me, dabbed the blood from my brow after a fight on the day we met. Her face was pale and her neck was twisted in a monstrous fashion. The sheet metal had cleanly sliced her throat. Still, I pulled her lifeless body from the car, from the flames and to the dirt, and laid her softly on her back. With strands of spit and blood, I drew close to her. “Eve,” I whispered.
“Eve!” The evil silence hung in the air like the reverberations of the hangman’s bell blasting through the sentenced ears. My saliva hung from my cracked and bleeding lips. I screamed her name for what seemed an eternity, but no answer ever came. A nearby driver saw the flames and called 9-1-1. Apparently when they found me I was still holding her lifeless body. It took them ten minutes to pry me from her. I wouldn’t let go. I refused to let her go, screamed her name, screamed and cried. She couldn’t be dead. I screamed and cried, screamed for my one true love to return to me, but she never did. I never again got to see her. (I wasn’t even allowed at her funeral.) Never again will I see her smile, or kiss her soft, red lips. Never again will I feel her silky, smooth hair nestling against my bare chest. Never again will I smell her perfume. Never again will I feel her soft, loving touch. She was the first person to ever try and love me in this life I call my own. I awoke in the hospital, and they were forced to put me under again. It took three times before I would accept what they were telling me.
Almost a year and a half has gone by now, but every night I hear those screams, and every night I feel those flames. Though I try my best to hide it, to this day I have a slight limp. I don’t dream anymore. In fact, I haven’t had a dream since it happened, just nightmares-- screaming visions of hell. Therapists and psychologists didn’t help. They wanted me to talk about her, like they ever knew her. They didn’t love her as I did; they had no right to speak her name. I always hated those people. Though most days I ask myself if I have any right to speak that beautiful angel’s name or about our once beautiful promise that I will never see fulfilled. I haven’t spoken to Matt or Andrew since that day, nor have I had a beer or done drugs. It just isn’t worth it. In fact, it never was.