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Two SecondsRainbow
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| Two Seconds |
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| This is a humor 'N Sync site but this page is not humorous or related to 'N Sync at all. A situation that occured last week inspired me to write a short story. I'm not gonna say to much because by reading the story you should catch the main point. In lew of spring break and prom I decided to post the story on my site. I know I'm being vague but that's because I want you to read the story. Two Seconds The worn sponge grazed the stove top for its final swipe. White soap marks were visible, but an audible sigh dismissed the thought of removing them. The kitchen never gleamed before, there was no use in making it this night. Cold water from the faucet saturated the wrinkled hands, masking the dry skin lined at the edge of the palm. The hands were sore and tired, as well as the rest of the woman's body. The aches that smothered her body didn't hold her back from grabbing the wooden handled broom. Dirt mounted the old tile and a good sweep was past due. Rain. Pounding bass. Laughing. A heavy breeze from an open window. A cadaverous shriek. Incandescent headlights. Blackness. The woman was now on her knees scrubbing at an apparent scuff mark. "That boy and his damn shoes. The concept of him taking off his shoes before he walks in the house must not be coherent in his mind," she mumbled angrily under her breath. A tall dark haired figure flashed through her head as she continued to scrub. He had grown into a handsome young man and this simple thought altered the momentary frown she wore into a smile. Her little boy was no longer little, or even a boy. He was considered an adult by his peers and the law. An adult that was only two months shy of graduating from high school. This made her quite proud. The scuff had faded and the woman was back on her feet. Her nightly routine of tidying up the kitchen had come to an end and relaxation was on its way. Her son had joined some friends to attend a birthday party leaving her alone on this Friday evening. Living with only her son, who led a busy social life, left her alone many evenings. The term widow didn't enter her mind much anymore. It was something of the past that time had helped to heal. She was forced to deal with the term widow by having to raise her only son. But now, she didn't like to think much of the past. She had her man of the house, who helped her with most everything she needed, and that kept her content. Sirens. Red, white, and blue lights circulating. Heavy shouting. Various car parts scattered. Lifeless bodies. Reading was one of the woman's favorite hobbies. Pondering on, if it were even a hobby or not, was something she would do waiting in line at the post office, but for now her mind was preoccupied with a fictional romance. Being the one thing that was lacking most from her life, romance was her favorite thing to read about. It helped to fulfill the emptiness inside of her. This book was not as good as others she read in the past, but it was well enough to remain tight in her hands. The yellowed corner of the page was united with her fingertip and together they moved. Her eyes scanned the pages and the expressions of her face reflected the scene of the story. Her forehead then became wrinkled and her eyebrows scrunched together. Rubber gloves. Heavier shouting. Steady beeps of a machine. Sighs of frustration. The content of the previous book angered her so she moved onto a new one. The worn cover of this book reflected its usefulness. It was her favorite. Reading it over twenty times never held her back from opening the front and grazing through it again. Plus, she wanted to be awake when her son returned. She had faith in him and knew he was a good kid, but motherly instinct kept her in the old wicker rocking chair awaiting his return. Short after an hour of getting lost into the book, the doorbell rang, capturing her attention. Confusion filled her mind, for no one visited her house this late. She placed the book and her glasses on the coffee table and slowly stood upright. The doorbell rang again and the irritating sound induced a sigh of impatience from the woman's lips. It also caused her to speed up her once slow steps. She finally made her way to the doorway, unlocking the bolt and turning the doorknob. To her surprise, the extension of the front door revealed a police officer. Thoughts raced through her mind, but none compared to the actual reason for his visit. "Ma'am, are you Mrs. Atkinson?" he questioned. "I am Miss Atkinson, yes, can I help you?" she answered crossing her arms to fight off the chill of the wind that entered her house. "Can I come inside for a moment?" His face was pale and his suit was sloppily put together. Sweat beads rolled down his face but the winter like weather outside held no credit for that. "Of course. Can I offer you something to drink, eat?" "No, I'm fine," he replied following her into the small foyer. She noticed he was bothered by something and fear clouded her thoughts. Police officers only show up at people's houses bearing bad news. The fear turned into panic when the realization hit her. A police officer was in her house, upset, and he was not accompanied by anyone. The familiarity of this was causing her knees to go weak. "What brings you to my house?" she questioned, now with an apparent tremble in her voice. "Ma'am, you might want to sit down , I." Before he could even finish her heart fell. Almost the same exact line had been heard 12 years before when her husband was killed. He was working when his building caught fire. His office, sixteen stories up, made it nearly impossible for him to escape. The building collapsed after only six minutes of being on fire and her husband, along with thirty-eight other overtime workers, were killed. A police officer showed up at the house and urged her to take a seat just like this one had. Her hand clasped to her a chest with a strong force and the color in her face was swept away in that very second. "Ma'am, your son..." Her head slowly thrusted from one side to another in disbelief. She couldn't handle another tragedy, emotionally or physically. "I'm sorry but your son was in a car accident." The words hit her heart before they even came close to entering her mind. "We did everything we could, but he was gone before we got to the scene." Her body was shivering now with full force. She had just been handed information that her one pride and joy left in her life had been taken from her. Every muscle in her body had gone numb, starting with the most powerful one, her heart. The physical state of the woman made the officer feel obligated to comfort her. "I'm so sorry ma'am," he voiced in a whisper placing his hand on her shoulder. Her once silent voice had been replaced with a deafening cry. Every active particle in her body was soaring with pain. Her eyes were now lifeless and her heart was broken, again. She brought her hands to cup her face and her legs tucked under her and she slid to the floor. The officer squatted down next to her rubbing her back,while repeating sorrowful expletives into her ear. But the only words she wanted to hear was that her son was okay. She wanted to hear that her son survived the crash. After minutes of useless weeping, the woman struggled to collect herself and sit up. "Ma'am, there's something you need to know." She made no acknowledgment of his presence, but he decided to continue anyway. There was something she needed to know. "Your son was with a boy who was driving under the influence of alcohol." Another cold breath of shock escaped from her mouth. Her son was a good kid. He had good friends. They didn't do things like that. This wasn't something that happened to good people. "Your son was not drinking though. A witness involved in the accident was able to tell us some things before taken to the hospital. She revealed that your son was not even a friend of theirs just an acquaintance, but he needed a ride home. She told us that no one knew the driver was drunk except for her." This information was not helping her state of mind. Images of her son feeling he was safe in catching a ride with these people flashed through her mind. He was always a worrier, but he always made good decisions, unlike the driver of the car he had gotten into. The person who had decided to drive that car drunk had made an ignorant decision by driving, and an even more ignorant decision by driving with innocent people in the car. Anger, sadness, withdrawal, tragedy. These emotions circled throughout her mind as she pondered the situation. Along with these emotions was the questioning. The why's kept arising in her head. Why my son? Why did this happen to us? Why would something so bad happen to someone so good? "I can't fathom what you're going through right now and I know nothing I could ever say would stop the pain," the officer stopped for a second to regain his breath then continued, "I want you to know that the face your son held, when pronounced dead, was the most peaceful face I've ever seen. That says a lot about his life and who was in it. It says that he had a tremendous amount of love and not even death would separate that feeling from his body." The woman's face contorted and she slowly raised her eyes to meet with his. "I loved him more than life itself," she muttered. "And you succeeded in educating him of that information. Your child died knowing he was loved and if there's anything that can comfort you in this situation, it is that." The decision a person made to drive drunk in a matter of two seconds separated a mother from her son. Two petty seconds allowed a person to say yes to driving despite the fact they were drunk. In those two seconds that person determined the fate of a young man who planned to graduate with honors and grow up to be a successful person. Those two seconds tore a mother's whole world apart and took her only son immediately away from her. Those two seconds injured a girl's emotional state severely and her future will never be the same, because she will always live a life of what ifs. In just two seconds the young driver's own life was ruined, and his family has to deal with not just the same pain of loss, but an added feeling of guilt. Two seconds have never been so powerful. Two seconds...and it could be over! Driving drunk is a decision that doesn't even need contemplating. You already know the answer, you don't need the extra second. This is deicated to anyone who has lost someone special to a drunk driving accident. |
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