She died 3 years ago. It was a rather dramatic way to go by all accounts. A car accident caused by a drunk driver, and it was an instant death. It was instantaneous and painless, according to the coroner. I didn’t believe him. Everyone feels it for one second or two. There’s no way she avoided death staring her in the face moments before the car made an impact with the electric post.
Time does go on, eventually. And eventually, I was able to move on with her death and get on with my life. 3 years on, I still visit her grave. Sometimes, I wonder about the nature of the incident. I can’t think about it daily, but sometimes I want to pass back in time. And find those responsible. They all tell me that it was a driver in the car that day. It was a freak accident that they wrote off.
I didn’t believe that. Her parents didn’t seem to either. Still, they lived life as if what happened occurred as it did, ignoring that something was amiss. I worked my 9-5 hour job, staring at my phone and feeling the empty ache and sorrow of what was and is continuing to be.
This day, I’m going to visit her grave. I want to pay my respects and put more flowers. She always loved flowers. When I got there, I found that her parents were there too. They had something for me in their hand. What was strange was that they refused to look directly at me. What did they know? I thought. Something about her death? Her father handed me the paper with shaky hands without saying anything.
I glanced at them and eagerly snatched it from them. I swore I saw her mother stare for a little too long from her pale, limp-like face.
And then I read the letter. It only took me about a minute and a half, and I threw it down.
It was a lie. The car had been a lie. It had all been a lie. I knew it. In fact the car accident had never happened. In fact, the accused stood inches away from where I stood. They knew everything from the start.
Caroline, I can’t bear my parents any longer. They want to send me away to another country to get the uncouth out of me. Please, take care of yourself. I love you so much. I plan to drive my car and drive into a post three weeks from now.
With love,
Sarah.
I turned to look at the grave site again to pick up one of the flowers that fell. Just then, I heard a pair of footsteps run straight at me before falling with a sickening crack. I looked, and it was Sarah’s parents. Lying on the ground. Legs broken.
I still visit her and put flowers by her grave. And sometimes I hear her say thank you.
I wish I could have read her letter.
Helenmollybooks 