Holding Grudges

File I

I never took pleasure in driving down this winding road, neither during the bright light of day nor in the covering darkness of night; it genuinely didn't seem to matter. Although at night, it was especially excruciatingly... slow. At least in my mind, it felt that way. The constant presence of traffic lights, stop signs, and speed bumps at realistically almost every single corner created an infuriating atmosphere. No exaggeration whatsoever on my part. With only dimly lit streetlights casting long shadows, where swarms of moths gathered and fluttered about erratically, it certainly wasn't the peak time to drive or enjoy the experience. But at least I consoled myself with the thought that the moths' night would most certainly be better than mine, I mused as I looked up at them from within the confines of my car, having to come to a complete stop at yet another stop sign again. Yet, it was the speed bumps that transformed into my worst enemies, my rivals, sort of speaking, on this tiresome adventure. Going over them left me with my vision blurred and my head spinning, due to the sheer number of them and the rate at which they were frustratingly lined up. I always tried to convince myself to make a rolling stop at, at least one solitary stop sign but, I could never bring myself to actually do it. Predominantly because the vigilant neighborhood watch's observations were subsequently evident everywhere, and at all hours to boot. But also, there were plenty of CCTV cameras surreptitiously surrounding the area too. Even if I tried to navigate using side roads, they all told the same monotonous story of slow-paced torment.

"The watch and their power." I conveyed letting out a slight chuckle.

It was the age-old story that has echoed through time. Some decade and a half ago, a young seven-year-old girl was joyfully playing with her ball when, in the blink of an eye, it rolled out onto the busy street. Tragically, she became involved in a devastating hit-and-run accident. Sadly, she did not survive the incident, bless her precious soul. The motorist who was behind the wheel that fateful day has never been apprehended, remaining at large even to this day, leaving behind unanswered questions and a lingering sense of loss.

Justice for Jane Anderson posters were still prominently displayed from last week's annual protest rally and candlelight ceremony, with delicate white flower petals gently coasting across the sidewalk within the soft, flowing wind. Even after so much time had passed since her tragic passing, the neighborhood was still up in arms, expressing their frustration and sorrow. And I don't blame them at all. This was a quiet neighborhood, one that had maintained its peaceful atmosphere for years and, I mean, for many, many years. Its tranquility was disrupted, and the community's pain was palpable.

I was traveling this way to meet a friend... well, more like an acquaintance now; his name is David A. Williams. He really liked the initial A in his name for some reason, though I never bothered to ask him why, and to be completely honest with myself, I never really cared to know in the first place. We initially met back in high school, though I would say we were more or less compelled to meet by our parents because they were family friends at that time. David wasn't the most popular kid in school, and that's putting it mildly. It wasn't that the other kids actively disliked him or anything like that; rather, it was after that tragic incident that he began to become increasingly distant from everybody else, including himself, retreating into a shell that few could penetrate.

On that dreadful morning of which date I can't for the life of me remember, a day that would ultimately transform David's life forever, his father dropped him off at school just as he did every single morning. His father was a firefighter, a brave and well-respected one at that, and almost everyone in their community knew who he was due to his heroic deeds and dedication. This strong reputation was precisely why no one dared to make fun of David for his so-called "daddy" dropping him off at school. You know how teenagers can be; they'll make fun of anyone for almost anything, no matter how trivial it may seem.