WRIT/310: Creative Writing: Creative Reading Script

Personal Memoir
WRIT/310: Creative Writing: Creative Reading Script
C.A. Neilson
August 31, 2020
Personal Memoir
Memoir
It was one of my regular trips to Bethany Beach DE to visit family when something unusual was in store for me along my way. I was just settling into the back seat of the car that picked me up from the station when I saw my driver’s neck intermittently waving like a pendulum. Inquisitively, I said, “Are your drunk, man? Did you have a few before getting behind the wheel!?” The driver nodded to confirm my suspicion. I was utterly shocked, to say the least, and yelled at him to pull over. “I am accustomed to it, mam; do not worry,” he meekly replied. Upon this, I got hysterical and shouted at him to pull the damn car over immediately or I would call 911.
Without arguing any further, he pulled the car over at a gas station and looked at me with a grimace on his face. He then asked me to wait until he called his dispatch to have them send another car and driver. “Lucky guy to have got away with that”, I murmured because I could have easily fired him and called the police.
Soon after the driver was off, I reclined in my seat and shut my eyes, leading me to somewhere in the distance. The next moment, I saw my car, reattached up to 100 miles per hour, swaying and drifting along the road. I asked my ex-boyfriend to slow it down, but he kept mocking my timidity labelling me as “chickenhearted”. It was unsettling for me because I had noticed that he was drunk and wanted to show how he could juggle around between intoxication and driving. Maybe, he wanted to impress me by showing how he could do the things single-handedly.
I kept insisting, “Stop it, please; for God’s sake, stop it.” However, wild impulses were all over him, and he wanted to show something specialhe was hell-bent to show something special in a wild-mood. In a wink of an eye, a truck appeared from a narrowly curving turn and hit the car. It was all I could remember before I reopened my eye in the operation theatreoperating room. I beseechedbegged the nurses around me to let me know where the driver was and how he was feelingdoing. Their indifference to my repeated inquiries was unsettling and foreshadowing something that was beyond the limits of forbearance for me. The nurses repeatedly asked me to calm down as my injuries were still fresh. The accident left me with a broken knee and a sprained neck. It came as no surprise because we hardly had any time to brace for the severe impact.
It was after my assurance that I was going to calm down not going to act wild that one of them came close to me and placed her hand on one of my shoulders. In a faint soft tone, she uttered, “sorry, he’s no more” to leave me with a never-ending trauma.
Before I could recollect any further, the voice, “madam” (ramping up gradually) made me jerk ...