Prologue: I am not a murderer. I am not a homicidal freak. I had no weapons that night, no bullet packed gun. I did not wield a knife. My instrument was a steering wheel. I loved my girlfriend, as most of our schoolmates did. She lit up every room she set her size five feet into, and though she was her tallest at five-three, her booming personality made up for what she had not been given in height. Her auburn hair sparkled in the sun, and a smattering of freckles danced across her nose, growing in population each summer. I especially loved her oceanic blue eyes. Yes, she was a prize, and she had known she had wanted me from the start, chasing after me through middle school into high school until she finally snagged me in our sophomore year.
She was more than ‘hot’; our relationship hardly depended on sex. What we had was something more; it was real love, real chemistry. One kiss from her sent shivers down my spine; I could joke and laugh with her one minute and have a serious conversation with her the next. We never argued beyond playful banter, and our affection never wavered. So, I ask you now, would I murder this girl, the love of my life?
1. 1.The rain pelted hard on my mother’s stained glass windows. The usual color-streaked floor sat still and bland, as if unexpecting and bored. I made my way to the kitchen, where warm fluorescent lights welcomed me, and beckoned me to the pile of freshly baked Tollhouse cookies, just waiting to be eaten. Remembering my wresting coach’s warnings, however, I settled for a granny smith apple on the verge of browning. The couch sank slightly when I sat down, making a squeak that would definitely have posed awkward if someone else had been there. I dug down into the crevices of leather to find the remote. “Gotcha!” I screamed triumphantly, the black hunk of plastic now where it belonged. I turned on the TV to channel seven in hopes of catching the game. However, the weather had other ideas, and the cable box shut itself off before I could even see the score. Last thing I remember of this October night, I fell asleep on the sofa, lulled to dreams by the waterfalls outside.
2. 2. “MATTHEW LEWIS HARGROVE!” my mother’s voice shot through my brain, straight to the core of my spine, and I will admit it scared the shit out of me. I opened my eyes and tried to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through the window, contrary to last night’s torrential downpour. “Guess I fell asleep on the couch,” I mumbled. “Well, get ready!” my mom shouted. “You can’t be late.” Now, my mother is a great woman. But if there’s one thing she can’t stand, it’s lateness. I hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans over my boxers. With no time to shave, let alone eat, I made it into the car at 7:02. Not bad, I thought. I got to school with enough time to kiss my girlfriend, Alissa, hello.
3. 3. Homeroom through sixth was a blur. I had a crick in the neck from sleeping crooked on the couch, and I couldn’t wait for lunch to start so I could tell Alissa about the evening I had planned for us. I wanted to take her to Friendly’s, her favorite restaurant. For after, I rented a movie. Some chick flick with Cameron Diaz, I think. The bell was just about to ring when my teacher bent down over my desk and stuck her face in mine. “If you can’t stay awake for my class, Mr. Hargrove, maybe you should stay with me an extra period. Lunch detention.” I groaned. If I didn’t get to lunch, I’d never get to Alissa on time. Thursdays, she had band practice from after lunch until dismissal. “Can’t I just stay after school?” I argued. But no can do. Old Mrs. Lycra was no known for her compassion. The bell rang and I tried to slip away. But Mrs. Lycra caught me. “Please sit in the front of the room.” Bummer. I would have to call Alissa later.
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