2010 Sobriety Rocks Honorable Mention – Best Writing
The Contingency
by Kenzie Templeton
The sunlight pouring in through her bedroom window was enough to rouse her from her deep slumber. Slowly, she became aware of her unusual surroundings. The absence of an early morning commotion of three younger siblings and a frazzled mother told her that the house was empty, and suddenly, she became aware of the uncharacteristically chilly mid June morning. She violently shivered and sought to cuddle back into the pink cotton comforter when it occurred to her that she was late for an appointment.
Mechanically, she rose from the bed and floated toward the small bathroom she shared with her mother and younger sister. Running behind and not wanting to waste a moment more, she hurriedly brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her long brown hair, but a flash of red near her temple caught her eye. She pushed back a few rogue stands of hair to reveal a crusting over wound, perhaps caused by excessive scratching. Hastily, she wet a cloth and dabbed at the dried blood before applying a daub of concealing makeup to the scab as well as the bags under her eyes.
Flipping off the switch of the bathroom, she made her way to the modest closet in her bedroom and found a neatly pressed, simple black dress hanging above the door. Perhaps her mother had laid the garment out for her? She slipped the conservative uniform over her small frame and stepped into a pair of matching flats.
As she mindlessly made her way toward the front door, it dawned on her that she had no inclination as to where she was headed. Still, it was as if her feet knew the destination well while her mind was left misinformed. Soon, she found herself at the entrance of a large stone building with arched double doors and a tall steeple. Grasping the handle with a slender pale hand, she turned the knob and silently slid into the opening.
The grave congregation inside told her that the building was a church. Was it Sunday? Come to think of it, she couldn’t quite remember what day it was. It must be Sunday. Why else would all these solemn people be gathered in a place of worship? Luckily, the said flock hadn’t noticed her come in; she took the opportunity to quietly seat herself next a middle-aged woman wearing a gray birdcage veil who was listening intently to the supposed pastor.
Focusing her attention to the man at the pulpit, she politely attempted to seem interested in the sermon but realized that she couldn’t make out a single word he was currently spouting. It was as if his voice was muted by some unseen force. At that moment, she heard the woman’s sharp intake of breath as she tried to stifle a sob. Under the barrier of the veil, she could see that the woman was fighting to hold back the downpour of tears that threatened her stoic appearance.
Though she wanted to comfort the woman, she kept her hands neatly folded in her lap and cast her gaze downward. Shortly thereafter, the woman beside her had risen and was nudging her way past the sitting girl, followed by the procession of the pew’s remaining occupants. Not knowing whether to remain seated or to move out of the way, the girl rose and found herself being pushed along by the swarm.
Promptly, she found herself at the head of the pulpit, staring at a sleek black box. A casket. This was no ordinary Sunday service; it was a funeral. The convoy of mourners had formed a line, apparently to pay their respects to the deceased.
The woman with the gray birdcage veil was the first to offer her final farewell. As she leaned down to lovingly procure a long strand of stray brown hair, the girl behind her caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a scar near the edge of the departed’s temple: the mortician had obviously tried to hide the blemish with makeup.
Without warning, the woman bent at the waist to bestow the lifeless corpse a final kiss of the cheek. At the same time, the veil covering her face from the girl’s view had slipped to reveal a familiar face…her mother. It was then that she noticed the same button nose, the same pouty lips, and the same dimpled chin of the corpse were that of which she had viewed in the mirror that morning. Then, she could feel the warmth of her mother’s kiss upon her own plumb cheek as them memory began to play out before her eyes.
Darkness
It was late, around 1 A.M. when Rachel Left. She couldn’t quite remember what had prompted her to attend the party in the first place; it wasn’t exactly her normal weekend activity. She spent most Saturday nights cuddled up with a mountain of homework or a book instead of partaking in the social norm of underage drinking, that is, until this evening. Maybe the fact that she would be attending college in a few months and had no social experience with alcohol whatsoever had piqued her interest in the famous teenaged pastime of keg stands and beer bongs.
Whatever the cause, she was cursing it now. After the first hard lemonade, she felt no effects of impaired vision and motor skills as were described by every past health class instructor. So she allowed the influence of her peers to “have another”… then another, and another. Soon, her first taste of tipsiness had gotten the better of her. She lost track of time, missing her curfew.
Stumbling to her used Honda and fishing for her keys in the dark recesses of her purse, her wobbling form was stricken by the first wave of drowsiness. It was as if every inch of her body was restrained by unseen weights. Locating her keys, she stifled a yawn as she unlocked the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. For a moment, she contemplated calling her mother, but the fear of maternal disappointment quickly smothered the thought. She hastily buckled her seatbelt and started the ignition, pulling onto the barren street.
As she followed the highway onto the dam bridge, she could once again feel fatigue pull at her eyelids; she turned on the radio in hopes that a catchy pop song might revive her from the edge of lethargy. Turning her attention back to the road, she began to construct a viable excuse as to her whereabouts that evening. Surely she could suggest that the study group had run late? She was so wrapped up in her silent meditation that she didn’t noticed when the alcohol-induced weariness had won the battle over her drooping gaze, and the car had subsequently merged into the left lane.
The first impact of the Honda against the dam’s metal railing jolted her from the short-lived catnap. Before her mind could process what was happening, the second impact of the car rushing headfirst into the angry black water coupled with the failure of her airbag to deploy caused her head to smash into the steering wheel. Rapidly slipping into blissful unconsciousness, all that she could register was the unusually icy temperature of the June water. And then, darkness.
…
In 2008 alone, there were 556 Kansan, adolescent, alcohol-related car crashes. Eighteen young people lost their lives that year, while 354 more were seriously injured. With figures like these, why is that teenagers like Rachael embrace the deadly risks that accompany underage drinking without thinking twice? Perhaps it is due to the fact that many youngsters feel that they are invincible and that they could never become such tragic statistics. Unfortunately, reality has the cruel tendency to come crashing down in some of the most unexpected situations. As a result, precious lives are being stolen before they have even begun.
If Kansas is to combat this heartbreaking epidemic, her citizens must not only take legal action, but they must also begin to change the way in which underage drinking is viewed. No longer can we accept illegal alcohol consumption as a rite of passage, not when children are dying and families are needlessly suffering. After all, no one wants to attend a funeral… especially their own.