Collision

Written and copyrighted by: Keith Helinski, 2011

Smashwords Edition

Dear Mr. Williams,

This is Rachel. I was told that it would be okay to write to you. In fact, my ‘roommate’ told me that it would be completely healthy to. I started writing you something awhile ago, but I just couldn’t find the words. What is there to say right now? I guess I should start from the beginning.

I was 20, going to Macomb Community College. Couldn’t decide what I wanted to do when I graduated from high school, so I just got the general studies out of the way at Macomb. Isn’t that what you go through first, anyhow? After two years, I still had no idea of what I wanted to do. That certainly didn’t set well with my ‘rents.

On top of that, my boyfriend and I were having some problems. We were great together during the summer, inseparable, but started fighting A LOT by the beginning of fall.

We were at a house party near Clinton River Road when shit really hit the fan. I am not even sure whose house it was. I am assuming that whoever was hosting the party; their ‘rents were out of town. My boyfriend pushed me to go. I really didn’t want to but caved and figured it would be good to just let loose.

I had a few wine coolers first. I know I was underage, but come on, EVERYONE underage drinks, right? I know there’s no defending my own actions here, but it’s true, everyone drinks. All of my friends. Everyone I know. EVERYONE!

What we both didn’t realize (or maybe just me – stupid, stupid me) was how parties and alcohol can make a fighting couple’s problems reach that ultimate point-of-no-return. I am not sure who started it, it might’ve been him or myself. Things started to blur together as events were unfolding. We started fighting right there in front of everyone. And before I knew it, he stormed off, leaving me alone at this party. What a jerk! And HE was the one that dragged ME to this party (he drove me). I didn’t really know anyone. I felt stranded. I could have called my ‘rents to pick me up. But instead, I just continued drinking, and drinking, and drinking. And when one drinks like that, their judgment is beyond them. I can’t even recall what was going through my head. I can’t even recall why/how/when/what, but I can’t deny the facts now.

I took someone’s keys from the key basket in the front room, stormed out of the house while completely wasted beyond reckoning, and used the remote attached to the keys to locate whichever car it belonged to. A black car (I was later informed it was a Neon). I just wanted to LEAVE. LEAVE the party. LEAVE the scene. Maybe LEAVE my sanity.

I got into the car, put the keys in the ignition and just DROVE. I used all my concentration to not get into an accident. But it didn’t quite work out as I had planned. Not even a mile on Clinton River Road, passing Hayes, I started to swerve from one side of the road to the other. Passing Miller’s Orchard before getting to Schoenherr Road, there is that curve. I lost control and got into the opposite side of the lane. And that’s when I collided into an incoming car: the car belonging to your wife.

The sound of the crash sobered me right up (at least that’s what I felt). I heard distant screaming. I am assuming they were the people that heard and saw the wreckage. Even though I felt sober, I was in a trance far away. I can’t remember everything that happened after the crash. I was blacking out during my trance. But I know for a fact before the police gave me a breathalyzer test and everything went dark, I was BEYOND the legal limit.

But that wasn’t the icing on the cake.

In that state, my mind couldn’t function, couldn’t decipher between right and wrong. But once I came to with a massive hangover, I was informed of the long list of wrongs I did. Underage drinking. Driving under the influence. Stolen car. And I found out Mrs. Williams died at the scene of the accident. I sat there in my cell at the Macomb County Jail, completely shocked. I just couldn’t believe it. And it all started because of a stupid fight I had with my now ex-boyfriend, a fight that seems meaningless now.

I was arraigned and sentenced to only 15 years in jail for it all. The second the judge took his gavel and slammed it down, that’s when it all truly hit me. I took a life. I took your wife’s life. I deserve more time here. I deserve my entire life behind these bars. I took your wife’s life!!! The least they can do is take mine.

A lot of days I sit here in my cell at the Huron Valley Correctional Facility, thinking. Thinking about what your wife was like. Thinking of the events leading up to the collision that ended her life and ruined mine. Thinking of what I should have/could have/would have done differently if given a chance. They push the Bible down my throat here, telling me ‘salvation lies within’, that God will forgive my sins. Maybe years from now, I might believe that. But this isn’t like getting a bad grade on a report card and having your TV and phone privileges taken away until you raise that grade back up. This isn’t like getting detention at school for having a fight with another student over something dumb. This is big-time “grounded.” And I can’t help but think what my life would be like without the events happening that caused me to be here, writing to you, or what your life would be like if you still had your wife.

I am very sorry for the loss I caused you. I hope somehow you can find forgiveness for me in your heart and reply back. I want to know what Mrs. Williams was like, before our fates collided.

Sincerely yours,

Rachel