Once, there were three men who were good friends: musicians--no, traveling minstrels. One of them was my friend Doug: thin, with soft brown hair and a goofy grin. We had been talking about work, our favorite bands, the kind of comfortable things people talk about when they're at ease. Just before noon, he took his leave, promising to come back later to continue our discussion.
One beautiful summer day, the girl was driving out her demons at 90 miles an hour, her blonde hair flying. There may have been tears--despair or rage, we will never know. The light burned in her eyes, her mind blank.
The three men were off to lunch, their car at an intersection. The light was red.
Then suddenly, a crash from behind. Their car flew into the air, suspended for a few seconds, just enough time for a sharp intake of breath--life defying gravity.
Metal, plastic, bone crumpled together. The car, a paper ball in the hands of a furious child.
The broken glass turned red, the ground turned red. The stoplight with its red eye, stared at the scene, the strewn bloody bodies, the distraught girl. It hesitated for another second, blinked, then turned a somber green.
It is two years later. Yesterday, the girl was convicted in court for a botched suicide attempt. Her sentence: 8 years for reckless multiple homicide. With time served, she could be out in 18 months.
Anger? Sadness? Indifference? What should I feel?
Numbness. Is that a feeling?
Suicide blonde, got some revelation, put into your hands? Did it save you from your misery?
Hardly Knew You - The Last Day of Doug.