Jacob Baker
Calamity Avenue
She packed quickly. She couldn't miss her opportunity, not again. Taxis passed her as she continually waved them down. Eventually one pulled over and she hopped in. "Calamity Avenue please." She was short with the driver. He pulled back into the traffic, and drove down the street. It had been a gloomy day, with the rain lifting, though everything was still soaking and dripping. The moon was directly above them, covered in thick, grey clouds.
They arrived at the destination almost twenty minutes later. She paid the taxi driver and stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk in front of a hair salon. She felt like walking to where she was going so no one would suspect her of anything. As she walked, her legs were heavy and felt like they were carrying three times the normal load. She forced herself forward until she reached a small bar. It wasn't a nice bar, or even well-kept. It was run down, chairs strewn across the back of the bar, bottles left scattered on the tables. She stopped and peered into the window to make sure he was there. Once she spotted him, she walked into the back alley and waited. Forty-five minutes passed, she had found a crate to sit on while she waited. She was tired, but didn't lose focus.
The back door to the bar flew open, with a drunk, middle-aged man stumbling out, carefree. He leaned up against the cold brick wall of the bar as if he was about to throw up. He didn't. He turned to see the young woman standing in front of him, arms stretched out holding a small pistol. The man was drunk, but put his hands up. "What do you want?" She stood, motionless fifteen feet away from him. "Well, get on with it then."
"Do you even remember her?" she asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about, lady."
Her hand gripped the gun tighter. "Of course you don't remember. Of course. You were probably too intoxicated to realize anything that night."
"If this isn't going anywhere, I have some beer waiting for me somewhere else."
"I won't let you walk away again. Not after all these years." A tear fell from her eye. He started moving towards her. "Stop. Don't come anywhere near me." She almost hissed the words.
"I don't know who you are."
"No, but I know you. I'll never forget you." She remembered the accident like it had just occurred.
Fourteen years ago, there had been a beautiful summers' day. There was a single white cloud in the sky. The sun was shining, the heat danced across her face. Her mother was in the garden, planting marigolds, her favorite. The flower reminded them both of her father. She chose it because the gold stood out among the other flowers at the stand the day of the funeral.
Emma, at eight years old, loved helping her mother around the house. She enjoyed being outside and planting flowers. It had been a calm day, with nothing out of the ordinary happening. They had been outside all day, and as the full moon started to rise high into the sky, they decided to go see a movie at the local theater. They enjoyed the movie and thought they'd see it again.
Once it was over, they left the theater, her mother making jokes and Emma giggling. It was a chilly night, unlike the past week of warm, peaceful ones. They turned on the heat and began driving. The radio was playing and they sang at the top of their lungs to the songs they knew. As they approached a street light, her mom hadn't noticed a large grey van that wasn't slowing down driving perpendicular to them. They drove through the light and impacted with the van. Their small car rolled over three times, posed up against a large tree, while the van had swerved into the ditch on the opposite side of the road. The only other thing from that night Emma could remember is sitting in a cold police department. Waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. She went to live with her aunt in the city for years to come, since she was her only living relative.
A month later was a court hearing. The man that had crashed into them was brought in front of everyone and received a sentence of two and a half years of jail time and a year of community service. Emma hadn't understood how short the sentencing was and left the courtroom unchanged. Another 18 months had gone by and the man was released early for good behavior. After he was released, he went back to his old habits, bar hopping and going home drunk every night.
"I'll never forget you. You killed my mother. Drunk as you are now!" Emma cried, tears streaking down her cheeks. She refocused the gun at his chest.
"Look," he began to say. Emma didn't take her eyes off of him, her finger now on the trigger.
You could hear the gunshot for miles around in the still night. The lifeless body fell limp onto the damp asphalt. If the man wasn't confused before, he definitely was now. He backed away, leaving the young woman lying on the ground. Raindrops sprinkled her face as a sliver of soft moonlight broke through the dark clouds and caressed the static body.
