Laurel

Laurel loved to drive (or ride,  depending on the vehicle). She had an incredible fascination over driving since she was a little kid. Her mom used to say that when she first got her tricycle at 4th grade, it was almost impossible for anyone to get her off of it. She was so obsessed with driving that one day she almost gave her parents a heart attack. They had to call her friends in the middle of the night,  only to find that she wasn't there. Then there were sirens wailing all around the locality. Almost no one in our locality had sleep that night. The next morning as everyone was exhausted and all pent up, she appeared out of nowhere, singing merrily,  bathed under the bright light of the dawning sun. That was the only week of my life I had to spend without seeing her not even once. But that wasn't enough to end her passion for driving or riding.

In her life she had enough adventures of that sort. Enough to write an entire novel on it. She loved the rush. But she wasn't just that. She was simple and kind hearted too. She wasn't the brightest but she always tried her best at everything. She had this unbelievable energy to never give up. Maybe that's why I liked her so much.

We knew each other since we were big enough to understand that we have to cry to get things done. But it wasn't until my 16th birthday that I knew I belong to this wonderful woman. That life without her wouldn't simply bear the same meaning. But it took me 5 more years and 3 failed attempts to tell her that.

I still remember the day when she suddenly disappeared on me. It was naturally the worst nightmare of my life. Our kid was just 2 years old and I was not an expert on kids. In no sense was I the ideal father. But I knew how much she loved giving everyone heart attacks. One day. Two day. An entire week went by. I had to call the police. Since we never left our locality the reaction of the officers were just what I expected. Another week went by. I knew that if she returns I would take my son and leave her. And won't look back. Then it was Christmas. The worst Christmas of my life. The next day as I was picking the daily paper. I saw her standing with a big smile. I wanted to slap her as hard as I could. But I broke into tears.

She didn't say much. She just said, "I was just preparing for that day when you would be standing in front of this gate,  picking the paper but there won't be a me. " Pretty harsh way to teach. Maybe she knew how much I was dependent on her.

But I'm glad that that day never came. The day when I would go to sleep without feeling the warmth of her hand.

It was a rainy, damp, cold night. Just the kind of omens you would expect for a night this bad. When I am with her it's rare that I get the wheel to myself. As she sped the car over 60 on the moist ladden road it didn't came to her mind that even the best of drivers can go wrong. The car skidded and soon enough our car was flying off the side rails. But now that I see her head bang into the wheel and dark patches of blood grow deeper and deeper on her forehead,  I think that the night isn't that bad. After all I don't have to die without her. Somehow this day which should be the worst day of my life seems rather beautiful. And as the car kept falling down and down I searched for her hand and held it as tight as possible.

Who knew that the thing that she loved most would be her ultimate nemesis?

It's true that the moment before you die is the longest moment of your life.