Fifteen Feet Ahead

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIII
• • •
Miranda!" My mom stood in the kitchen. It was obvious that she had been crying. My dad and a policemen stood beside her with cross expressions on their faces. "My God, you're alright!"

I could feel my heartbeat in every part of my body. This was the most trouble that I've ever caused. All I could say was," Yeah, Mom I'm alright."

She ran to me to give me the tightest hug and almost instantly took notice of the cuts on my arms.
"What I happened here?" she asked, pointing to the bloody wound, and before I could say anything she said, "I'll go get some Neosporin!" With that, she dashed up the stairs.

My dad didn't seem so happy to see me. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and furrowed brows.

"Duncan, come with me. I'll get a wash cloth to clean off what ever the hell is on your chest, and then I'm driving you home. Miranda, I'll deal with you later." Duncan followed my dad to the laundry room.

My mom called from upstairs, "I can't find the first aid kit!" Oh that's right, I had it in the draw string bag.

"Sorry Mom, I have it!"

"Mrs. Fracella, " The policeman began. "I don't believe your family is in need of any more of my service tonight, correct?"

"Yes sir," she climbed down the stairs. "Have a nice night."

"Goodnight," he forced a smile as he shut the front door behind him.

I pulled the white squirt bottle out of the bag on my my back and handed it to my mom. She cleaned my wounds and wrapped them carefully with bandages.

Duncan and my dad soon emerged from the laundry room, and his chest was now vomit-free. They headed out the front door without other sound.

I don't know how to explain the emotions I was experiencing in those very moments. Perhaps, I was still in stock, or maybe I was angry. I probably just performed the most heroic thing that I've ever done in the first fourteen years of my life. Isn't it ironic that every time I've saved Duncan's life, I get punished for it? It was all his fault really.

• • •

The next morning I awoke to my mom crying. I squinted my eyes, groaning, slightly pissed that she would wake me up at seven in the morning after such a late night.

"Miranda? Miranda, are you awake?" she was barely able to make out.

"What?" I yawned, forcing myself up to a sitting position.

"Honey, something very bad happened last night," she croaked. "Brandon Clifford passed away." The words hit me like a lightening bolt. Died? The Brandon Clifford died?

"What?!"

"Yes," she sniffled. "He was in a car with an extremely drunk driver. He was going over seventy miles on a small and whindy road."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and I didn't know how our school would move on. How anyone would. He was the only freshmen on the entire football team, and everyone loved him for it. What were all the girls who fangirled over him going to say? What was Duncan, his best bud going to do? Hell, what was I going to do?

"Mom, I'm going for a bike ride." I climbed out of bed and grabbed a t-shirt from my closet.

"Do you want breakfast?"

"No," I said firmly. "I'm not hungry."

After I got changed, I headed down to the garage. My mom gave me no more questions, not a single word. We never talked about last night, and in fact, we never did. To this day, my mom has no clue about the events that occurred on that stormy and mysterious March night.