2007
speak
09.06.2007 = JAYPLAY
HIT AND RUN
In my naive, 15-year-old way of reasoning, a big truck seemed easy to drive. I realized the power behind it, but still drove it with the carelessness of a go-kart. Little did I know that an event was about to take place that would change my driving habits completely.
I was entering my sophomore year of high school, and thanks to the previous summer's driver's education course, had my driver's permit. The vehicle was my father's 1995 Ford F-150 pickup. It was by no means a monster truck, but compared to the other cars in the school's parking lot, it was a behemoth.
By the third day of school, I drove in feeling invincible. This is probably why I didn't use much caution when parking. And this is probably why I hit the car that I
was trying to park next to.
When it happened, there was no sound, only the feeling of a crunch. It was light enough to make me think that maybe I just brushed against the other car, but heavy enough to make my heart skip a beat. I sat in the truck for a minute, took one of the longest breaths of my life and tried to figure out what to do next. I couldn't recall this subject ever being covered in driver's ed.
I got out of the truck, looked at the other vehicle—a small white Jeep Cherokee—and assessed the damage. The once smooth surface of the front and rear driver's side doors were marked up and uneven. Maybe I was scared, or maybe I wasn't smart enough to even attend high school, because I walked straight to class thinking that no one, especially the owner, would notice the huge black dent left by my truck's front bumper. I made it through the school day without incident and didn't tell a soul about the accident. I walked back to my truck in the
afternoon and saw that the Jeep was still there. I guess I was too busy staring at the indention to notice the security cameras that watched over the parking lot. When I got home, acted as if was just another day at school, but the incident was the only on my
by Jared Duncan
mind, and my final thought before falling asleep that night.
The following day, I made sure to park as far away from any other car as I could. Everything was going normally. Then, my fifth period biology class was interrupted by a note that sent me to the principal's
office. Walking down the hall, I had no clue what this meeting could be about. But the moment I walked in and saw a police officer waiting, I knew. Being face-to-face with two authority figures who both knew I was guilty of a criminal act had me frozen. So much
so that sitting down to talk with them was almost a workout. And the cold sweat didn't help much, either. Possibly sensing my fear, both the officer and assistant principal wore sympathetic stares on their faces. Or maybe they just realized the humor of the situation. After all, they weren't the ones who hit a car.
They informed me that the owner had indeed noticed the damage and that the whole thing was captured on camera. As if it weren't enough, the officer notified me, as he was writing up my citation, that the vehicle that I had hit belonged to the daughter of the city police captain.
There was a fine and, of course,
the cost of repairs to the Jeep. But
the worst part was the guilt I felt
months after the event was over.
Not to mention that the officer relied on me to tell my parents about the whole affair. The look on their faces was a mixture of disgust, disappointment, rage and a grab bag of other emotions that I either can't describe or have blocked from my memory. It was a blessing and curse. I felt horrible, but I turned it around and used it to teach myself a lesson in honesty.
Since then, I haven't gotten into any major scrapes, vehicular or otherwise. And while I'm hoping nothing like this ever happens again, I know that it will. I feel more prepared this time, however, because it will be a chance to prove to myself that I've taken a lesson from this experience: own up to your mistakes, be honest and always look out for cameras.