November 23rd, 2008: The Day My Sister Died

Please take a moment to read the first line of my previous entry.


My sister always had a great memory. Much better than mine, in fact. Many of our arguments were centered on this fact. I believed sometimes that she made some of these memories up. My memory of tonight will fade, just like all the memories of my past. I intend to jot down every thought and happening leading up to tonight's tragedy so that I may remember this night as clearly as possible.
I worked tonight at 6pm. I had a very wonderful night the night before, and I had had little sleep. I woke up and downloaded some episodes of Dragonball Z. I finished Dragonball, and then watched the Bears game. I spent a little while playing basketball in my room, and eventually got ready for work. I had asked my father whether my sister was using the car tonight. My car, a 91 Subaru Legacy, had died a couple of days before, and I was without vehicular transportation. She was using it, so she got ready to take me to work. She went over to her friend Katie Schneider's to pick some of her stuff up I believe, and she left to go get it about 15 minutes before I wanted to leave. I was slightly irritated, but I knew that Katie's house was near enough that it did not matter. She arrived about 5 minutes later than I wanted her to, but I was not very upset. I left the house to go get into the car with her. True to my nature, I trusted her driving, and was dozing off most of the way to the theater. When we arrived, I got out of the car, told her when I was getting off, and that I might get off early and I would let her know, said, "Thank you, see you later," which was very uncharacteristic of me, and left to go work.
I was working my first scheduled booth shift in some time, and the first night one I have worked in months. Kelsey was the closing manager, a redish haired manager who was our strictest enforcer of rules and discipline. Kelsey is a good manager because of this. She does not go overboard, although she occasionally rubs people the wrong way because she does not like telling people what to do. She just barely has it in her, although many would like to believe otherwise.
Upon arrival, there was a group of staffers standing at the managers' station, filling out what appeared to be a quiz or test of some sort. In actuality, it ended up being a survey from some group or student from Purdue. Stephen, a rotund and hilarious Mexican friend of mine, Lauren, a stout worker, and Melissa, a blonde beauty whom I had recently grown attached to were filling them out. Lauren and Melissa's were quite ordinary, but Stephen's was not. His answers were hilarious, as he played on some of the stereotypes about Mexicans. I had not spoken to Melissa in about a week, and while I was delighted to see her, I was wary of her reception. I did not know whether she was miffed at me, whether she had grown creeped out by me, or what had happened to her in the last week. My tendency to flirt at the theater could grow a little rambunctuous, and it was quite possible that she had taken to the hills. I asked Melissa what she had been up to, and she informed me that she had been grounded, and that included her phone. I was, needless to say, delighted, with a small shot of disappointment.
I asked her to come hang out with me upstairs, since she explained that she was going to wait as long as possible before going home to the dungeon. She did, and we talked and chatted while I ran the set. Things went well, and I was feeling pretty good about life. Girls apparently have that effect on you, occasionally.
The rest of work was unimportant. I realized that I was going to get off right about midnight, instead of 1am, so I texted my sister to let her know. She texted me back saying she would be there. We closed at about 12:15am, and she still had not arrived. I texted her, saying, "Where are you?" and started calling her a minute later. I continued calling her nonstop for about 10 minutes because I believed she was rejecting my calls. The phone kept ringing different amounts of time, one ring, two rings, three, three and a half, four. After the ten minutes were up, I called my father. He woke up, his usual grumpy self, and I asked him if she was still at home. He checked her room and checked the garage. She had left. I waited about 10 minutes for her to arrive, and then started calling again. After about 20 minutes, I decided to have my friend Sam Keener take me home. I joked several times that she was probably dead. Little did I know that that was truth.
We started on our journey. I did not pay attention to much, and Sam and I made small talk about work related drama. I was texting my dearest friend, Darla, as we drove. As we neared the intersection of 52 and Morehouse (the road my neighborhood is off of) I noticed many blinking red and blue lights. Sam said, "Well what the hell is this?" My stomach took a small tumble, as I said, "Well maybe she really IS dead." I didn't believe it. I knew it could not possibly be my sister. Sam drove ever closer, and I realized that one of the cars involved looked a lot like my father's. I said as much, and Sam asked if she should park at the gas station on the corner. I said yes, and she did. At this time, we came close enough to see the wreckage. The entire side of my father's car was caved in, centered around the driver side door. The roof looked like a soft top because it was caved really high.
I walked over, unsure of my direction. I walked straight to the car, which had rolled to a stop at about the median, or had been moved there. I took a look at the rear bumper, realizing with horror that the number read 740NDA. I remember this because I always thought it read, 7Honda. My knees began to shake, and I felt the slightest retch from my stomach. A man in an orange vest came up to me, and inquired who I was. I told him that I believed that that was my sister. He asked me to repeat it. I asked where she was. He started gently directing me over to the police officers. I did not, at this point, believe my sister was alive. I knew she had died, because they had no reason to tell me nothing. A very shocked and concerned police officer asked me who I was. I told him my name, and that my sister was the one in the car. They wouldn't answer any of my questions, but instead asked me many. Sam called to check and see if she could do anything, but I did not believe that she could, so I told her to go on home. The police officer took me home, and I went to get my Dad. He was not dressed, so I asked him to get dressed. I fought the dogs inside the room and shut the door. He asked where she was. I told him that Kate had gotten into a wreck. He asked if she was ok, and I told him that I didn't believe so, and that the police officers wouldn't let me know. I told him that they were waiting outside as he asked where they were.
The policeman chose his words very carefully. His position was surely almost as emotionally charged as ours, as he attempted to put aside his feelings of sympathy and tell us what we needed to know while bound by legal duty and without angering a once renewed grieving family. He told us that he had been in the back of the gas station and heard the wreck, and that the investigation was in progress but that he had his suspicions and that the man, who had survived, as I thought, "Thank God", was possibly drunk.
We thanked them and let them go to their duties, I'm sure with heavy hearts. My Dad called his mother, my aunt Annie, uncle Jim, Steve, and my uncle Larry on my mother's side. He told me to call my brother, David, but I did not know how. He called and told my brother to call him on his cell.
I have had so many thoughts I can't even think about it.
- My brother's father died when he was 12. My mother died when he was 15. Now my sister died when he was 25. How do I tell my brother his little sister died because the car he sold me died, causing her to have to pick me up at 1am on a schoolnight?
- My thoughts are selfish.
- Kate was better than me, she should definitely have been the one alive right now. She had much more drive and gusto for life, and used her talents to a far more use than I.
- I can't go to class tomorrow.
- How soon will I be able to return to normal?
- I'm horribly selfish.
- This is unreal. She was once in a car accident where the car hit on her door, only she was fine. She was really freaked out, and I made fun of her. Her last image was probably his lights right outside her door, like on that insurance commercial.
- What will Mel think? What will Ami's reaction be? How much and how long will people show unrelenting concern while I shove it away, and as I get better, what will it be like to watch it fade?
- I'm the most selfish person ever born.
- She didn't deserve this.