Yasmin
Rodriguez
Spoto
High School
2019-2020:
11th
Have
you ever had the experience of being in a car accident or have seen
your friends or family members driving irresponsibly?
Riddled
with despair and impulse, my mother stormed into my room one night,
exasperated out of breath. I had no sense of time; all I knew was
that it was a Tuesday night. As I scramble for any piece of clothing
near me, my mother rushes out the door to her car with a driven
force. Unknowingly, my biggest regret occurred while I dressed my
siblings for the night to come. My mother informed us that we had to
pick up our drunken stepfather.
Before
we click on our seatbelts, my mother pulls out the driveway in a
split second. Avoiding each traffic light and sign within a
twenty-mile radius, she weaves through each space available, racing
against an invisible clock. My siblings and I never held on so
tightly never fully grasping the importance of the late-night trip.
Equivalent to Cruella De Vil’s manic pursuit to hunt the 101
Dalmatians, my mother was trying to find her lost dog. Once, we
pulled into a dark area; I glance to my right to find a tired
pathetic man rocking side to side who with a purpose, walked to the
red Ford Explorer. As he sat in the passenger’s side, my stepfather
turned to say “hello” to the three terrified children that lay in
the backseat. No words were spoken for about five minutes until my
mother spoke with hatred and a silver tongue that could pierce even
the harshest soul. Soaking each foul insult, my stepfather throws his
callused fist against the glove compartment to quiet the beast that
was my mother.
Instead, the intention was the pure opposite, like a match to a fire
she became even more radical swerving into nearby lanes and
persistently stomping her foot on the brakes to prove a point. I
tried to contain my fear by making sure my siblings are securely
strapped to their seats, so they do not suffer from whiplash. My only
wish was to make it home safely, so I can return to my bed with
dreams of happiness and security. In a moment of anger that would
mark my fear of being placed behind the wheel, my drunk stepfather
grabbed the side of the steering wheel to the bright red Explorer and
pulled down as hard as he could. It felt like time had slowed down
and hope was just a mere stimulation that the rear of the SUV smashed
into a light pole.
Not
realizing I was holding my breath, each minute felt like an eternity
as my mom and her shrieks come into consciousness. A trickle of pain
in my neck, back, and tailbone symbolized that I was involved in a
car accident that was caused by one of the people in the vehicle, all
because of impulse and alcohol. No insurance companies, police
departments or paramedics were called to clean up the mess that was
made. We simply pulled off into the protection of the dark mysterious
night with no repercussions insight.
Rodriguez
Spoto
High School
2019-2020:
11th
Have
you ever had the experience of being in a car accident or have seen
your friends or family members driving irresponsibly?
Riddled
with despair and impulse, my mother stormed into my room one night,
exasperated out of breath. I had no sense of time; all I knew was
that it was a Tuesday night. As I scramble for any piece of clothing
near me, my mother rushes out the door to her car with a driven
force. Unknowingly, my biggest regret occurred while I dressed my
siblings for the night to come. My mother informed us that we had to
pick up our drunken stepfather.
Before
we click on our seatbelts, my mother pulls out the driveway in a
split second. Avoiding each traffic light and sign within a
twenty-mile radius, she weaves through each space available, racing
against an invisible clock. My siblings and I never held on so
tightly never fully grasping the importance of the late-night trip.
Equivalent to Cruella De Vil’s manic pursuit to hunt the 101
Dalmatians, my mother was trying to find her lost dog. Once, we
pulled into a dark area; I glance to my right to find a tired
pathetic man rocking side to side who with a purpose, walked to the
red Ford Explorer. As he sat in the passenger’s side, my stepfather
turned to say “hello” to the three terrified children that lay in
the backseat. No words were spoken for about five minutes until my
mother spoke with hatred and a silver tongue that could pierce even
the harshest soul. Soaking each foul insult, my stepfather throws his
callused fist against the glove compartment to quiet the beast that
was my mother.
Instead, the intention was the pure opposite, like a match to a fire
she became even more radical swerving into nearby lanes and
persistently stomping her foot on the brakes to prove a point. I
tried to contain my fear by making sure my siblings are securely
strapped to their seats, so they do not suffer from whiplash. My only
wish was to make it home safely, so I can return to my bed with
dreams of happiness and security. In a moment of anger that would
mark my fear of being placed behind the wheel, my drunk stepfather
grabbed the side of the steering wheel to the bright red Explorer and
pulled down as hard as he could. It felt like time had slowed down
and hope was just a mere stimulation that the rear of the SUV smashed
into a light pole.
Not
realizing I was holding my breath, each minute felt like an eternity
as my mom and her shrieks come into consciousness. A trickle of pain
in my neck, back, and tailbone symbolized that I was involved in a
car accident that was caused by one of the people in the vehicle, all
because of impulse and alcohol. No insurance companies, police
departments or paramedics were called to clean up the mess that was
made. We simply pulled off into the protection of the dark mysterious
night with no repercussions insight.
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