Seikend
Smash Journeyman
- Joined
- Apr 16, 2007
- Messages
- 415
Link to original post: A Story.
"Now, this is the story all about how
My life got flipped-turned upside down
And I'd like to take a minute
Just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air"
I was eleven at the time. Another dreary day of school had finished and I was on my way out of the school grounds. A friend and neighbour, Simon, offered to give me a lift back to my house. We only lived a ten-minute walk away, but I accepted. Walking really wasn't my thing at the time. I found my sister (nine years old at the time) in the sea of schoolchildren and we went to where his mother's car was, waiting patiently as she chatted with another parent. Time passed. A lot of it. I was aware that the school grounds was mostly empty at this point and we could have easily got back home by now if we had just walked. Still, I waited. It'd be rude to walk off now.
Eventually they finished discussing whatever adults discussed, and the other parent went back to their car. Simon then proceeds to asks if his mother can drop me off. To my disappointment, she said they couldn't. Apparently they were going into town first: not heading straight home. I nodded and mumbled an "okay". I said my goodbyes, and turned around to the direction of the lollipop man. Or, at least, where the lollipop man was. To my dismay, he had already left, having done his shift.
Now, the school is right outside a main road and as it was the late afternoon, it was busy. However, being the foolhardy young child I was, I had no concern for road safety and cars. Sure, I'd usually quickly look left and right and listen before I crossed but more out of a habit than actually checking for traffic. And so with no lollipop man around I decided to cross the road right there and then. Strike One. I stepped behind Simon's mother's car (Strike Two) and ran across without looking. Three strikes.
I don't remember the next few seconds well. Rather than having strong memories of screeching, or the sound of a car horn, or the car make or colour, I have an entirely blank spot in the memory. All I know is that the car had to brake and swerve onto the pavement on the other side of the road just to miss me. Oh, and one more thing. My sister had run across the road with me. She had followed me.
Thankfully she wasn't hit. It did leave me with a great sense of guilt though. I wasn't too concerned about myself, but putting the younger sister who trusted me into such danger bore away at me. This wasn't helped by the school assembly next Friday in which some time was spent talking about an "incident" earlier that week involving a pupil at the school who could have died, and the importance of road safety. This was made worse by Simon telling his friends and teachers that that pupil was me.
To be fair, I did deserve it. I was stupid, and I needed to be taught a lesson. But to know that I could have caused the death of my sister? I was just relieved that neither the school nor Simon had mentioned her being there. It was my dirty secret. Thinking about my actions left me with a feeling of overwhelming guilt, but it was far better than everyone knowing what an inconsiderate ******* I was. I kept that secret for six years, until I eventually told a counsellor about it. Only recently have I managed to ask my sister about it.
Apparently she didn't remember it at all. That seemed odd to me. It was such a strong memory for me, I couldn't see how she'd forget it. At the time I dismissed the train of thought, but recently I was reconsidering it. The story just doesn't make sense. We never walked home together, nor did she know Simon well. I have no memory of meeting her at the end of school (I added the line where I met her purely for the sake of the story making sense): She only existed in my memory in that brief moment when I crossed the road. She was not recognised as being there by Simon, the driver, the school or herself.
I clearly remember her being there in that moment, but it just doesn't add up. Rationally she can't seem to have been there, nor does anyone else remember her being there. It's purely in my memory.
So here's where I am. Two possibilities. Either:
A: She wasn't there and I imagined she was.
Or
B: She was there and I just recently convinced myself of an imaginary reality where she wasn't.
The thing is, neither makes sense to me. If A, why would I imagine she was there? It just made me feel **** for several years. If B, why would I now imagine she wasn't there? I've dealt with the guilt now; I don't need to pretend it didn't happen.
I'm inclined to believe A. But either way, realising that my perception of reality is so unreliable is disconcerting to say the least.
"Now, this is the story all about how
My life got flipped-turned upside down
And I'd like to take a minute
Just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air"
I was eleven at the time. Another dreary day of school had finished and I was on my way out of the school grounds. A friend and neighbour, Simon, offered to give me a lift back to my house. We only lived a ten-minute walk away, but I accepted. Walking really wasn't my thing at the time. I found my sister (nine years old at the time) in the sea of schoolchildren and we went to where his mother's car was, waiting patiently as she chatted with another parent. Time passed. A lot of it. I was aware that the school grounds was mostly empty at this point and we could have easily got back home by now if we had just walked. Still, I waited. It'd be rude to walk off now.
Eventually they finished discussing whatever adults discussed, and the other parent went back to their car. Simon then proceeds to asks if his mother can drop me off. To my disappointment, she said they couldn't. Apparently they were going into town first: not heading straight home. I nodded and mumbled an "okay". I said my goodbyes, and turned around to the direction of the lollipop man. Or, at least, where the lollipop man was. To my dismay, he had already left, having done his shift.
Now, the school is right outside a main road and as it was the late afternoon, it was busy. However, being the foolhardy young child I was, I had no concern for road safety and cars. Sure, I'd usually quickly look left and right and listen before I crossed but more out of a habit than actually checking for traffic. And so with no lollipop man around I decided to cross the road right there and then. Strike One. I stepped behind Simon's mother's car (Strike Two) and ran across without looking. Three strikes.
I don't remember the next few seconds well. Rather than having strong memories of screeching, or the sound of a car horn, or the car make or colour, I have an entirely blank spot in the memory. All I know is that the car had to brake and swerve onto the pavement on the other side of the road just to miss me. Oh, and one more thing. My sister had run across the road with me. She had followed me.
Thankfully she wasn't hit. It did leave me with a great sense of guilt though. I wasn't too concerned about myself, but putting the younger sister who trusted me into such danger bore away at me. This wasn't helped by the school assembly next Friday in which some time was spent talking about an "incident" earlier that week involving a pupil at the school who could have died, and the importance of road safety. This was made worse by Simon telling his friends and teachers that that pupil was me.
To be fair, I did deserve it. I was stupid, and I needed to be taught a lesson. But to know that I could have caused the death of my sister? I was just relieved that neither the school nor Simon had mentioned her being there. It was my dirty secret. Thinking about my actions left me with a feeling of overwhelming guilt, but it was far better than everyone knowing what an inconsiderate ******* I was. I kept that secret for six years, until I eventually told a counsellor about it. Only recently have I managed to ask my sister about it.
Apparently she didn't remember it at all. That seemed odd to me. It was such a strong memory for me, I couldn't see how she'd forget it. At the time I dismissed the train of thought, but recently I was reconsidering it. The story just doesn't make sense. We never walked home together, nor did she know Simon well. I have no memory of meeting her at the end of school (I added the line where I met her purely for the sake of the story making sense): She only existed in my memory in that brief moment when I crossed the road. She was not recognised as being there by Simon, the driver, the school or herself.
I clearly remember her being there in that moment, but it just doesn't add up. Rationally she can't seem to have been there, nor does anyone else remember her being there. It's purely in my memory.
So here's where I am. Two possibilities. Either:
A: She wasn't there and I imagined she was.
Or
B: She was there and I just recently convinced myself of an imaginary reality where she wasn't.
The thing is, neither makes sense to me. If A, why would I imagine she was there? It just made me feel **** for several years. If B, why would I now imagine she wasn't there? I've dealt with the guilt now; I don't need to pretend it didn't happen.
I'm inclined to believe A. But either way, realising that my perception of reality is so unreliable is disconcerting to say the least.
