An Experience With Death

Every morning in 9th grade I had to walk (or sometimes skate) a mile of hills to get to school. Mornings were hell, reality in the morning came in shifts. Often I would microwave an empty plate or put handsoap on my toothbrush instead of toothpaste. I left my house, like I always do, feeling naucious from the mix of orange juice, the smell of toothpaste, and a sleep deprived headache.

The morning fog is strong this morning. My stomach acts up more than usual and my throat becomes weak and drained. My body convulses and I throw up two streets from my house. I shake it off and keep my pace.

I head down a hill and I see lights glaring through the fog. I want to figure out if it's a police car or an ambulance, anything to give me motivation to keep walking towards school. The fog fades around the ambulance and a smashed car appears. A chinese man is talking to a paramedic, filling out paperwork.

My imagination tries to fill-in a story of what could have happened. This clearly is after the fact, the car and dented garage doors are artifacts of a possible tragedy. As I walk by the car, I see a man inside with his face against the stearing wheel. His skin looks like the color of dried seeweed.

I look at the man a few more seconds then look away. I try and actively avoid seeing things that will traumatize me the rest of my life, but the image never left my head, except during school. I went through school that day, like any other day, forgetting what I saw that morning. When I walked by the spot of the accident on my way home, I thought to myself, "I saw a dead man this morning."