Eight Days Before Christmas
When did my life begin? In all truth I would have to say that it
began eight days before Christmas when I was already the mature age of
nine years old. Or to be more exact, I was nine and a half. That extra
half makes all the difference in the world to a child who wants to grow
up quickly. December 17, 1986, that is the day I so vividly remember. My
mind is a VCR that can play, rewind, fast forward and pause any second
of that day. But regretfully, I cannot stop it.
Oh yes, it started out just like any regular day for a young boy
just itching to get out of school as quickly as possible. I was always
the teacher's pet and the quiet type but just between you and me, school
was no roller coaster ride. The most terrifying thing I remember is my
teacher from that year. Oh how I would dread the end of the school day.
Miss Tanner would stand by the door as we filed out one by one and kiss
us on the cheek. It was a slobbering mess.
I cannot recall what the weather was like that day - it seems like
such a trite and needless detail. But I can tell you this much; we lived
in South Florida, so I can pretty much guarantee you that it was hotter
than hell on Fry Day. The sky may have been blue but your skin would be
bright red. No, I don't remember what the weather was like, but I do know
that it couldn't have been beautiful.
I would meet my sister, Sarah, at the bike racks as soon as school
let out. She was two years younger than I and probably a lot prettier.
We lived nearly two miles from the school grounds and had driven our bikes
to and from the campus all year. We walked the distance before that year
because there were no sidewalks along the side of the road leading to our
home. Our parents both worked full time and riding our bikes back and forth
wasn't exactly a hardship, it was more like a grown-up responsibility.
More importantly, it was fun.
Now you have to understand, we needed to get home as quickly as
possible. With Christmas being so close, we assured ourselves that there
were possibly unwrapped presents lying around hidden in our parents' room.
The goal was to get home before Mom and Dad. My sister and I were cohorts
in this great and terrible deed. Pssst?it wasn't the first time.
Anyway, we rode like mad, passing by tons of new houses going up
in our developing city. New hotels and supermarkets were arriving nearly
everyday. There were many times we saw a tour bus drive by slowly filled
with people eager to spend every penny they had. On what, I have no idea.
Royal Palm Beach was just a speck becoming a star at the time.
A smiling crossing guard led us silently across the last intersection
before our intended destination. Just four more blocks and we waited side
by side for the traffic to subside before crossing the street to the dirt
road our house was on. Two more minutes and we might have to chance to
sneak a peek at our presents.
I don't know which way my eyes were looking but I did see the white
van. It was the last vehicle that would pass us before we crossed the street.
I looked over at Sarah. Her eyes were focused on something down the road
in the opposite direction. That's when I realized that her feet were propelling
her bike forward.
"Sarah, No!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. She was in the
opposite lane, almost across the street. Screeching tires. My sister never
turned her head. I watched her fly off of her bike and skid several feet
along the harsh pavement.
"Sarah! Sarah!"
The driver of the white van jumped out quickly. He slammed the
door shut and pressed his body against the side of his vehicle. He pounded
his fists furiously against it. I looked at my sister lying there helplessly.
There was no movement.
"I'm going to get my parents!" I shouted at the driver, not knowing
what I should do or say. He glanced at me but said nothing. I ran down
that old dirt road faster than a cheetah could dare ever hope for. All
the while I was shouting, " Mom, Dad? Mom, Dad!" Our house was the fifth
one on the right. It was a small, prefabricated home sitting on a large
hill on two acres with a nice pond in the front.
I could see the front door open from halfway down the street. My
mother had a hand over her chest.
"Sarah got run over! Sarah got run over!" My mother bounded furiously
down the steps and ran down that road faster in flip-flops much faster
than I had in my tennis shoes. She never once looked at me or anything
else on her desperate journey. Her sights were only set on keeping her
daughter alive.
I continued to run all the way to our house. My father stood there
looming in the hallway. I couldn't understand why he just stood there.
I told him again that his daughter had been run over. He walked slowly
to the phone and started dialing. He only dialed one number before asking,
"This is a joke, isn't it?"
A neighbor took me over to her house only a few moments later.
My father disappeared to join my mother. I wanted so badly to know what
was going on. I deserved to be with my sister. She was my best friend.
A friend of my mother's picked my up nearly thirty minutes later. She had
a daughter that was my age that was a friend of my sister and I.
At their house I watched the movie 'Never Ending Story' nearly
all the way through. I spent most of the time crying by myself though.
It was then that Mrs. Cramer came to me and said it was time to go home.
She looked tired and her daughter was crying hysterically. I was only confused.
No one told me anything. I just wanted to see my sister and make sure she
was going to okay. She was going to just fine, I never doubted that for
one minute.
Mrs. Cramer stopped the car halfway down the driveway and told
her daughter to go pick a rose from the rosebushes in their front yard.
She only cried more as she did so.
When we finally got back to my house there were people everywhere.
Friends, neighbors, family, and police. My father grabbed me by the shoulders
and led me to an old wooden swing just in front of the house. He sat beside
me and without any fanfare or explanation he said, " Tim, your sister is
dead."
Yes, that is the day my life began, eight days before Christmas.
It changed the way I feel about people and events. Christmas presents aren't
the most important things in life? family and friends are. I cherish and
respect every living day. I learned early on that you must let the ones
you love know that you love them. Thirteen years later I still cry when
I think about my sister and that terrible day. I don't remember much about
her and I can't even picture what she looks like in my mind. But I do know
this; I know I loved her.
Author ~ Timothy David
 
 
 
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