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The Crash : Your Story • Writing Forum | WritersDigest.com

The Crash

Read the top five entries and vote for your favorite in the current Writer's Digest Your Story competition. (You must be a registered member of the WD Forum to view and vote.)
Scott Francis
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The Crash

Postby Scott Francis » Tue Oct 18, 2011 2:09 pm

Getting pulled over is nerve wracking at the best of times. I couldn’t believe I was getting pulled over now. Not today of all days. But there he was. Blue lights flashing in my rear view mirror. That dark, helmeted face was cold and anonymous as I watched him walk slowly up to my driver’s door.
The window rolled down in a smooth whir when I hit the button. I wasn’t used to the car yet, since it had been my dad‘s. His death, a few weeks earlier had rocked my world and I was only just starting to get back to ‘normal’.
I could hear Dad’s voice in my head, “Kid, you’re always speeding from one place to another - one thing to another. Slow down!” I was a chip off the old block, however.
Dad’s death had been all over the TV news channels and the newspapers. As a helicopter pilot for a local TV station, his deadly crash was fodder for the less conscientious news teams. They seemed to take a delight in speculating how he had made a terrible error in judgment, taking off in the early morning mists with his passengers, the two anchormen. After awhile I had been unable to stand watching them pull his decision to pieces and I walled myself up alive in my little studio apartment. I didn’t answer the phone or the door bell. I barely read my email. And Facebook? Fuggetaboutit. I was in complete hibernation.
“License and registration, please miss,” my cold, blank buddy brought me back to reality. I reached into my glove compartment for the registration and a shower of papers and news clippings poured out along with it. My dad’s typical pack rat mentality came flooding back to me, as well as the tears. I missed my old man - something fierce.
I bit my lip to keep the tears back and handed the registration to the officer, along with my license. Looking up at him, for a split second, I thought I saw a look of momentary confusion on that icy, handsome face. Not his eyes, which I couldn’t see because of the typical reflective sunglasses, but the mouth. The tight line of his lips wavered slightly and he opened his mouth for a moment and then closed it again, tight.
“You were speeding through that canyon, you know,” he stated, blandly. I acknowledged it. I was.
“Ya got me,” I said, somewhat sarcastically. I just wanted my ticket and to get back to my dreaded appointment with my dad’s lawyer. Reading the will was not exactly a happy occasion for my re-entry to planet earth, and I was already late, hence why I was speeding in the first place.
The officer hesitated a moment, and he handed something back to me from the registration papers. Not a ticket. A news clipping. A news clipping about my dad’s crash. I was puzzled by its presence in the envelope, but I was too nervous to really care or analyze the reason.
“Oh, thanks,” I murmured and stammered, “My dad’s crash. Don’t know how that got there.”
“That was your dad?” he asked gently, as he pulled the glasses down from his newly revealed, warm brown eyes. He laid his hand on the window sill of my car.
“Yeah,” I said somewhat defensively, figuring he had most likely seen all the negative press and accusation reporting that had filled the media.
My uniformed friend took a deep breath and he said simply and quietly, “I was there. I was with the first responders to the crash.”
We actually made eye contact at that moment, for the first time. I looked up at him. To my relief I saw only compassion. I smiled awkwardly. Now it was me who felt confused.
“Thank you,” I said simply. Then somehow I blurted out, “I’m on my way to his lawyer right now. They’re reading his will and I’m late and - " I couldn't go on. I burst into tears.
Twenty minutes later I was sipping hot coffee at the local diner, with my uniformed friend beside me. He used my cell phone to call the lawyer and say I’d be late. We talked and talked. That was six months ago and we haven’t stopped talking, except that now we’re talking about our wedding.
Life goes on thank goodness, speeding us and me, like my dear dad always said, from one thing - one place to another.

Jonayla
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Joined: Mon Oct 31, 2011 12:32 pm
Location: Thousand Oaks, CA

Re: The Crash

Postby Jonayla » Mon Oct 31, 2011 2:15 pm

"An author is a fool who, not content with boring those he lives with, insists on boring future generations" ~ Charles de Montesquieu

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rhondarightbrainlefty
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Posts: 189
Joined: Fri Nov 11, 2011 7:06 pm

Re: The Crash

Postby rhondarightbrainlefty » Fri Nov 11, 2011 10:37 pm

I really enjoyed this. I especially enjoyed the ending. The part where her father's pack rat nature was revealed in the clutter of the glove compartment, and she nearly cried was touching. Nice. I am the biggest newbie ever and I mean complete and total amateur. My only suggestion..would be...right here:
“Oh, thanks,” I murmured and stammered, “My dad’s crash. Don’t know how that got there.” -----what if since stammering was implied...you said something like "My...my dad's crash. I...don't know how that got there." Of course not exactly like this. Your own writing style. But just to add more to the moment? Oh I don't know. Im new and probably don't know what I"m talking about. Loved the ending. THought it was amazing.
The advice you got...about awhile...I appreciate and took note of this immediately. I learned something NEW!
Just Beneath the Surface I
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/154778
@rhramsey1214

Gail P
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Posts: 119
Joined: Mon Mar 09, 2009 2:04 pm

Re: The Crash

Postby Gail P » Thu Dec 29, 2011 6:38 am

I'm a sucker for happy endings -- I enjoyed it. Good Luck


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