crash
by Alyssa Lamb
Face planting never felt so good. After an early morning and long day at school my pillow felt like an oasis in the Sahara desert. As I lay there, falling head first into bliss, reality hit. I had only four hours of sleep ahead of me, and counting.
It all started with my older brother Steven. He was a young teenager with an expensive lifestyle: snowboards, drum sets, wish lists longer than Route 66; my parents just couldn't keep up with him. Finally fed up with all his pleading and begging, mom and dad planted the idea of him taking some responsibility and going to look for a job. He soon adopted this idea and ran with it. Steven, a fifteen year old with no experience, struggled exceptionally hard with this task. After weeks of searching he came to my parents with a brilliant idea: a paper route.
For four years running, my family was the not-so-proud owners of a paper route in Orem Utah. Steven was the ring leader in the beginning, but when the new bachelor turned sixteen he passed down the responsibility to me and my sister, Amy, so he could get a ‘real job’ that was sure to score him some hot dates. My dear mother put up with yanking us out of bed, shoving us into the car, and escorting us all around town to deliver the papers for three long years, every day, with no pay, until one day she very firmly informed us that she’d had enough and could no longer stomach the paper route. Amy had just earned the privilege of holding a Utah state license when mom quit, so naturally, she became the designated paper route driver. Every morning at three o’clock AM we had the duty to drive across town to the mosquito infested warehouse, count out our share of papers, fold, band, bag, and deliver all two hundred newspapers before six o’clock am; all this for only minimum wage.
The paper route proved bearable until the move. We moved fifteen minutes away from Orem to American Fork Utah. No big deal right? Wrong. My parents decided they’d move us right smack dab in the middle of junior high. Junior high is hard enough with friends; without friends it can feel like a nightmare. On top of all this, we kept the paper route. So now we had to drive 20 minutes away at three in the morning. As much as I complained, I imagine it was triple the torture for Amy, the driver. After waking up and dragging my blanket and pillow down to the car, I would curl up in a tight ball and nap until arriving at the warehouse. Because Amy always drove down to Orem, sometimes I would drive home for her even though I was barely fifteen and had never even held a permit, let alone a license.
It all started with my older brother Steven. He was a young teenager with an expensive lifestyle: snowboards, drum sets, wish lists longer than Route 66; my parents just couldn't keep up with him. Finally fed up with all his pleading and begging, mom and dad planted the idea of him taking some responsibility and going to look for a job. He soon adopted this idea and ran with it. Steven, a fifteen year old with no experience, struggled exceptionally hard with this task. After weeks of searching he came to my parents with a brilliant idea: a paper route.
For four years running, my family was the not-so-proud owners of a paper route in Orem Utah. Steven was the ring leader in the beginning, but when the new bachelor turned sixteen he passed down the responsibility to me and my sister, Amy, so he could get a ‘real job’ that was sure to score him some hot dates. My dear mother put up with yanking us out of bed, shoving us into the car, and escorting us all around town to deliver the papers for three long years, every day, with no pay, until one day she very firmly informed us that she’d had enough and could no longer stomach the paper route. Amy had just earned the privilege of holding a Utah state license when mom quit, so naturally, she became the designated paper route driver. Every morning at three o’clock AM we had the duty to drive across town to the mosquito infested warehouse, count out our share of papers, fold, band, bag, and deliver all two hundred newspapers before six o’clock am; all this for only minimum wage.
The paper route proved bearable until the move. We moved fifteen minutes away from Orem to American Fork Utah. No big deal right? Wrong. My parents decided they’d move us right smack dab in the middle of junior high. Junior high is hard enough with friends; without friends it can feel like a nightmare. On top of all this, we kept the paper route. So now we had to drive 20 minutes away at three in the morning. As much as I complained, I imagine it was triple the torture for Amy, the driver. After waking up and dragging my blanket and pillow down to the car, I would curl up in a tight ball and nap until arriving at the warehouse. Because Amy always drove down to Orem, sometimes I would drive home for her even though I was barely fifteen and had never even held a permit, let alone a license.

“GET UP!” Amy basically screamed in my ear; thanks to my lovely ‘alarm clock’ I definitely got off on the wrong side of the bed that morning. I rolled out of bed, holding my blanket around me, and my pillow still glued to my head. I stood in the blackness, trying to gather myself. Feeling unsuccessful, I decided maybe if I got back in bed Amy would forget about me and leave to do the paper route alone. Testing my theory turned out to be a horrible idea. Amy came storming upstairs, flipped on the light switch with an angry flick of her finger, marched over to my bed, and shook the tired right out of me. I shot up, annoyed beyond belief. Mumbling insults, I walked out to the car where I rolled up and went back to sleep.
“Come on! Alyssa! Come!” Amy’s piercing voice chanted the words in my ear. It seemed like not even two minutes ago we were pulling out of the driveway; Amy’s finger stabbed my side one last time before she stomped off through the doors. Reluctantly, I sat up and stumbled out the door of our car. Darkness surrounded me, the morning brisk and bitter; I could feel the winter nipping at my heels. The pavement felt as if it was moving under my feet; the ice growing up from puddles wasn’t helping so I held onto the car for dear life as I walked toward the door. Even from outside, I sensed the fresh-off-the-press, pristine,
“Come on! Alyssa! Come!” Amy’s piercing voice chanted the words in my ear. It seemed like not even two minutes ago we were pulling out of the driveway; Amy’s finger stabbed my side one last time before she stomped off through the doors. Reluctantly, I sat up and stumbled out the door of our car. Darkness surrounded me, the morning brisk and bitter; I could feel the winter nipping at my heels. The pavement felt as if it was moving under my feet; the ice growing up from puddles wasn’t helping so I held onto the car for dear life as I walked toward the door. Even from outside, I sensed the fresh-off-the-press, pristine,
brand-spanking new, newspaper and ink smell; it smelt like perfume to my nose, an element of the paper treasured only by long time deliverers, or possibly very avid readers. The aroma sent me back to better days that reminded me that maybe the paper route wasn’t so bad after all. Feeling a bit guilty for the harsh remarks and sharp words uttered under my breath earlier, I put on a sympathetic smile and walked into the warehouse.
After walking only four feet into the warehouse, it seemed like mosquitoes had already sucked up at least a pint of blood. Slapping them away from me, I vowed, as I did every day, to bring bug spray tomorrow. I scanned the over-sized garage for Amy. I spotted her in a crowd of people who swamped the far end of the warehouse waiting to claim their papers. As she counted, I walked over to our assigned station: a wooden, badly sanded, counter that had two screws sticking up used to hold the bags that we placed the papers into. Today, a Monday, the papers would be small and once Amy arrived with the stack of Deseret News and Tribunes we began folding. We finished in record time. Finally escaping the swarming population of mosquitos that incredibly began to multiply, we tossed the papers into the back seat and made sure the tires squealed behind us as we took off out of the small parking lot.
After throwing the last paper Amy asked if I could drive for her; by the droop in her eyes and the purple of her skin I knew it wouldn’t be long before she could evade sleep no longer. I, a new driver, always took the chance to drive when offered, which however rare, seemed now a new custom in the early hours of the morning. Anxious to make up for acting like such a wench that morning, I accepted the invitation to drive. She got out and walked around the car while I crawled and maneuvered over into the driver’s seat. We snapped our seat belts, I turned up the radio a bit, and we took off. I felt so powerful behind the wheel; I could go anywhere, do anything, transform into whomever I desired! Nothing could stop me. I was almost home. Just a couple more blocks till I could dive head first into my mattress for a few precious moments. I imagined drowning in pillows and suffocating in blankets…heaven had never felt so close…
CRASH
What? Where am I? Why is Amy crying? Oh no. When I came to, I felt confused and flustered. Then I saw it, a pillar of smoke and a huge hunk of metal sitting in front of me. Kill me, please?
Everything seemed fuzzy and distant to my ears. I heard some sort of commotion to my left: Amy.
“Oh my gosh! What did you do!?”
Her voice, strained and wet with tears, I could barely understand. She turned to me.
“OH MY GOSH. ARE YOU OK!?”
The look on her face told me that either Hitler stood behind me, or something entirely nauseating had happened to my face. Her hands reached out to me, but perplexed, I turned away and faced my rearview mirror; I almost passed out due to the reflection that stared back at me. A terrified looking girl with a tear stained face. I’m crying? Other than the fact that it looked obscured with terror, the left side of my face remained fine. The right side, however, was frightening. Where my eye normally sits, sat a softball of skin; completely swollen shut other than a bright red slit that turned out to be my eye peeking through a layer of blood. It had already begun bruising and appeared a deep shade of violet. Amy tried consoling me but was unsuccessful. I couldn’t hear her. I wasn’t listening. I felt ill. For so many reasons I felt sick. I threw my torso over my legs and my head between my knees, preparing for the blow. It never came, so aching pain and throbbing sting continued, never ceasing.
The cops showed up soon after. Out of pure panic that I would not be able to get my drivers license till I was 18, we lied.
“So let me get this straight. Amy, you were driving, and Alyssa, you were in the passenger seat?”
“Yeah...” we agreed without making eye contact, ashamed of our dirty lie.
“Well then, what happened to your face miss?” he asked pointing his index finger in my direction.
After walking only four feet into the warehouse, it seemed like mosquitoes had already sucked up at least a pint of blood. Slapping them away from me, I vowed, as I did every day, to bring bug spray tomorrow. I scanned the over-sized garage for Amy. I spotted her in a crowd of people who swamped the far end of the warehouse waiting to claim their papers. As she counted, I walked over to our assigned station: a wooden, badly sanded, counter that had two screws sticking up used to hold the bags that we placed the papers into. Today, a Monday, the papers would be small and once Amy arrived with the stack of Deseret News and Tribunes we began folding. We finished in record time. Finally escaping the swarming population of mosquitos that incredibly began to multiply, we tossed the papers into the back seat and made sure the tires squealed behind us as we took off out of the small parking lot.
After throwing the last paper Amy asked if I could drive for her; by the droop in her eyes and the purple of her skin I knew it wouldn’t be long before she could evade sleep no longer. I, a new driver, always took the chance to drive when offered, which however rare, seemed now a new custom in the early hours of the morning. Anxious to make up for acting like such a wench that morning, I accepted the invitation to drive. She got out and walked around the car while I crawled and maneuvered over into the driver’s seat. We snapped our seat belts, I turned up the radio a bit, and we took off. I felt so powerful behind the wheel; I could go anywhere, do anything, transform into whomever I desired! Nothing could stop me. I was almost home. Just a couple more blocks till I could dive head first into my mattress for a few precious moments. I imagined drowning in pillows and suffocating in blankets…heaven had never felt so close…
CRASH
What? Where am I? Why is Amy crying? Oh no. When I came to, I felt confused and flustered. Then I saw it, a pillar of smoke and a huge hunk of metal sitting in front of me. Kill me, please?
Everything seemed fuzzy and distant to my ears. I heard some sort of commotion to my left: Amy.
“Oh my gosh! What did you do!?”
Her voice, strained and wet with tears, I could barely understand. She turned to me.
“OH MY GOSH. ARE YOU OK!?”
The look on her face told me that either Hitler stood behind me, or something entirely nauseating had happened to my face. Her hands reached out to me, but perplexed, I turned away and faced my rearview mirror; I almost passed out due to the reflection that stared back at me. A terrified looking girl with a tear stained face. I’m crying? Other than the fact that it looked obscured with terror, the left side of my face remained fine. The right side, however, was frightening. Where my eye normally sits, sat a softball of skin; completely swollen shut other than a bright red slit that turned out to be my eye peeking through a layer of blood. It had already begun bruising and appeared a deep shade of violet. Amy tried consoling me but was unsuccessful. I couldn’t hear her. I wasn’t listening. I felt ill. For so many reasons I felt sick. I threw my torso over my legs and my head between my knees, preparing for the blow. It never came, so aching pain and throbbing sting continued, never ceasing.
The cops showed up soon after. Out of pure panic that I would not be able to get my drivers license till I was 18, we lied.
“So let me get this straight. Amy, you were driving, and Alyssa, you were in the passenger seat?”
“Yeah...” we agreed without making eye contact, ashamed of our dirty lie.
“Well then, what happened to your face miss?” he asked pointing his index finger in my direction.
Stupidly, I pointed to the arm rest. The police officer saw right through our alibi. Deciding to relieve our guilty conscience, we gave up our filthy secret easily; I especially felt calmed by our confession. I knew if it had worked, Amy would have been blamed and paid a major price all because of my idiocy. The policeman’s genuine smile after we surrendered the truth gave me hope that I would live to see tomorrow. I prayed my parents would react in the same understanding way. Once the shock subsided, I got out of the car to take a look at the damage. I had hit a car parked on the side of the road; thankfully the jacked up, monster truck turned out to be twice the size of my small Toyota; therefore, when I crashed, I crashed into the tire of the beast. It didn’t even lose a rubber hair. On the other hand, my car looked completely destroyed—totaled for sure. When things finally started calming down and questions came to a close, the last thing on the to-do list consisted of driving my wrecked car all the way home and enlightening my parents about the sticky situation I had gotten myself into. Incredibly, the car started and we headed for home. Amy drove; as we went I got a head start on my funeral arrangements while Amy turned completely delusional and laughed hysterically the whole way home; apparently the blinker happened to blink faster than usual. Hilarious.
When we pulled up my parents ran out of the house—they say the police man had already called and informed them of what had happened. Here we go. I started to attempt an excuse or justification for my actions but couldn’t even get a mere “I’m sorry” before my dad swept me up in his arms.
“I am so glad you’re ok. You’re here, you’re ok!” I was utterly speechless.
My Mom cried as I knew she would, but not for the reasons I expected.
“We were so worried! Let’s go put some ice on that…your eye…”
She guided me into the kitchen where she cared for my injury as much as possible, until calling the doctor.
To this very day I remain in awe of the patience my parents demonstrated and the loyalty of my sister in helping me through one of the toughest moments of my life. They were helpful in cleaning up the mess I’d made and understood the mistake I’d made. I did, however, get my share of punishments. Some were logical, like labor to be done to assist in paying off our totaled car, and aiding in the payment of our future car. Some were simply lucky, like the penalty I got from the city of American Fork for driving and crashing a car without a license or permit, was only paying a meager fine of 90 dollars. Others humiliating, like the embarrassment of explaining to people the reason my face is black and blue is because I crashed into a parked car. And lastly the consequence of the physical pain and surgeries endured because of the cheekbone I shattered in the accident. There was one punishment, however, I was overjoyed to receive; my parents ‘forced’ me to quit the paper route.
True it all started with Steven, but it ended--very abruptly—with me, Alyssa.
When we pulled up my parents ran out of the house—they say the police man had already called and informed them of what had happened. Here we go. I started to attempt an excuse or justification for my actions but couldn’t even get a mere “I’m sorry” before my dad swept me up in his arms.
“I am so glad you’re ok. You’re here, you’re ok!” I was utterly speechless.
My Mom cried as I knew she would, but not for the reasons I expected.
“We were so worried! Let’s go put some ice on that…your eye…”
She guided me into the kitchen where she cared for my injury as much as possible, until calling the doctor.
To this very day I remain in awe of the patience my parents demonstrated and the loyalty of my sister in helping me through one of the toughest moments of my life. They were helpful in cleaning up the mess I’d made and understood the mistake I’d made. I did, however, get my share of punishments. Some were logical, like labor to be done to assist in paying off our totaled car, and aiding in the payment of our future car. Some were simply lucky, like the penalty I got from the city of American Fork for driving and crashing a car without a license or permit, was only paying a meager fine of 90 dollars. Others humiliating, like the embarrassment of explaining to people the reason my face is black and blue is because I crashed into a parked car. And lastly the consequence of the physical pain and surgeries endured because of the cheekbone I shattered in the accident. There was one punishment, however, I was overjoyed to receive; my parents ‘forced’ me to quit the paper route.
True it all started with Steven, but it ended--very abruptly—with me, Alyssa.