Dead at Seventeen
by John Berrio
Agony claws my mind. I am a statistic. When I first got here I felt very
much alone. I was overwhelmed by grief, and I expected to find sympathy. I
found no sympathy. I saw only thousands of others whose bodies were as badly
mangled as mine. I was given a number and placed in a category. The category
was called "Traffic Fatalities."
The day I died was an ordinary school day. How I wish I had taken the bus!
But I was too cool for the bus. I remember how I wheedled the car out of
Mom. "Special favor," I pleaded. "All the kids drive." When the 2:50 p.m.
bell rang, I threw my books in the locker...free until tomorrow morning! I
ran to the parking lot, excited at the thought of driving a car and being my
own boss.
It doesn't matter how the accident happened. I was goofing off--going too
fast, taking crazy chances. But I was enjoying my freedom and having fun.
The last thing I remember was passing an old lady who seemed to be going
awfully slow. I heard a crash and felt a terrific jolt. Glass and steel flew
everywhere. My whole body seemed to be turning inside out. I heard myself
scream.
Suddenly, I awakened. It was very quiet. A police officer was standing over
me. I saw a doctor. My body was mangled. I was saturated with blood. Pieces
of jagged glass were sticking out all over. Strange that I couldn't feel anything. Hey, don't pull that sheet over my head. I can't be dead. I'm only 17. I've got a date tonight. I'm supposed to have a wonderful life ahead of me. I haven't lived yet. I can't be dead.
Later I was placed in a drawer. My folks came to identify me. Why did they
have to see me like this? Why did I have to look at Mom's eyes when she
faced the most terrible ordeal of her life? Dad suddenly looked very old. He
told the man in charge, "Yes, he's our son."
The funeral was weird. I saw all my relatives and friends walk toward the
casket. They looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. Some of my
buddies were crying. A few of the girls touched my hand and sobbed as they
walked by.
Please somebody---wake me up! Get me out of here. I can't bear to see Mom
and Dad in such pain. My grandparents are so weak from grief they can barely
walk. My brother and sister are like zombies. They move like robots. In a daze. Everybody. No one can believe this. I can't believe it, either.
Please, don't bury me! I'm not dead! I have a lot of living to do! I want to
laugh and run again. I want to sing and dance. Please don't put me in the
ground! I promise if you give me just one more chance, God, I'll be the most
careful driver in the whole world. All I want is one more chance. Please,
God, I'm only 17.
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