One Evening of Fun, A Lifetime of Remorse

I faintly remember the hue seemingly vomit like as my eyes slowly squinted open. I was sitting in a hospital room oblivious to reasons for lying between the sticky flower printed bed sheets. That morning looked as if it was a humid one as I peered out the window onto the pedestrians strolling down Bond street. My hospital room must have seemed multicoloured to those looking inside. In reality though, all I saw in myself was bleakness and dark despair of a teenage girl who was in a tough situation. My parents and teachers had been unaware of my own uncertainties regarding life and my purpose in this colossal world. I personally felt like giving up in most cases. I grew up in the simulation of a perfect lifestyle. My parents held the most prestigious dinner parties, my friends were all wealthy and my teachers thought of me as an energetic and focused individual. During the summer the facade had finally come to an end and my parents' irrelevant arguments would leave me lost and confused as I'd cry in the corner of my pink room. That summer I'd broken out of something so innocent and emerged into a new world of what I considered to be the only "once in a lifetime" opportunity I would ever encounter. It's true, I was naive and thought experiencing new things would allow me to put the times of grief behind me. There I lay in a room surrounded with cards from people who I wasn't even acquainted with. The flowers enveloping my bed were lush and vibrant and there was a hint of fragrance covering the scent of the revolting TV dinners the hospital had served to their patients for lunch. I wondered why I was lying in the hospital bed and what it was that I had done to deserve the gauze wrapped around my right thigh. I heard a knock on the door and my best friend walked in. She held more flowers and chocolates and suddenly she dropped them to the floor and began to cry hysterically. She explained that she went to church that morning and prayed to God for forgiveness but it was no use, she'd still felt liable for the events that occurred the other night. She slowly explained the details while choking from the tears she shed. There were stars in the clear sky the night I attended a party which was held at a friends house. My boyfriend and I pulled up in my burgundy 1993 Buick Century. This is where I'd forgotten the rest of the story. From here on in I had been completely lost. My friend helped me remember and I wish I could have taped her mouth shut with the gauze on my leg. I had been offered alcohol that night. It was nothing out of the ordinary though. I was at a high school house party and I was ready to have some fun. After many vodka coolers and some beer I finally felt loose and was ready to be myself. My friend began to cry even more and at this point I persuaded her to continue telling the story. She told me she wished she could have stopped me as I grabbed my set of keys that night. Apparently I got into the car while intoxicated and sped down the road. I never intentionally asked for trouble or to be sitting in a hospital bed the summer of my second last year in high school. I made a decision that night to conform to my role as a rebellious teenager. God knows there were other alternatives to my primary motive for taking the alcohol. I could have sat in my room and written in my journal, gone to the movies with friends, or simply refrain from drinking... but I didn't. I asked what kind of condition the car was in because I knew I'd be okay and I was worried about my insurance. My friend told me that her visiting time was almost up and that the lawyers were waiting to consult me next. I asked her what I had done and didn't then realize she would be giving me the most horrific news I had ever received. She explained that I'd been speeding down the dirt road, driving in oncoming traffic and neglecting traffic signals. She told me I had swerved the car into a tree because I was not fully sober. I had more than enough alcohol in my body and knew, when I stepped on the Welcome mat on my friend’s porch I’d be responsible for my own actions. I didn't’t fully abide by any rules. I thought I was in total control of own actions but ultimately, because of my lack or concern my own body had given into a murder. I murdered myself that night. Not physically but mentally. That summer night while driving home drunk I hit an innocent bystander walking her dog. She was a twenty one year old student at University of Toronto and was studying Philosophy. I bet she didn’t drink at a party and then go galavanting while drunk. I’m sure she never got behind the wheel. The worst part about my nemesis was that I hurt an innocent human being. I’d be alive for the rest of my life, knowing that someone out there perished due to my immaturity and neglect to follow rules tore me up inside. I will eternally be traumatized by the incident, especially since I was the cause. I payed the price for the act I committed. I feel now as if I shouldn’t even be entitled to worth or life but I have to realize that what I did was my own fault and I should take full responsibility. I am so sorry for what I had done not because of the money I had to pay but the knowledge of years and years of remorse that the parents, brother and friends had to live with. That day I was in the hospital I jolted when I’d heard the news. I thought, why had I done something so immoral? I was bright, intelligent and honest. Months later I sat in court, knees pressed together as I was questioned by the Crown. Sweat gently lay on my forehead and surfaced on my underarms. As I began to testify tears began to flow down my cheeks. My black mascara began to drip onto my face and I knew at that point that with any sentence I served I would be punished rightfully. I payed my price in the end not by how I was punished or how I had my dollar bills stripped from my wallet. I will always have remorse for that twenty-one year old with a full life ahead of her. I am guilty and resentful for the bad decisions I made the summer of 2003. I remember my friend shutting the hospital room door vigorously. I close my eyes and backtrack through all the incidents that occurred. Oh how I wished I could take back what I had done that late humid night. Because of the fact that I was lazy and naïve I drove while drunk and killed an innocent human being. I will be paying the price forever because I know that night I placed my own well being above all else. I looked at a card on the counter. It was written in crayons and had a bright yellow happy face with a heart around it. Inside it said, “Get well Steph!” almost illegibly written. I glanced at the multicoloured homemade card one last time through the glare from my tears and I began to sob on my hospital bed. I have been crying internally since that very day. I paid the price.1