Graveyard Girl

Chapter 1

"Jefe, are you okay?!"

I feel the car swerve and I grab onto the headrest in front of me for support. I'm sitting in the back of my Dad's BMW. It's my Dad's favorite car and sometimes I wonder if he loves it more than me.

"Mijo, relax. We'll be fine" he turns his head to face me. I look just like my father with dark hair that's almost black, tan skin and brown eyes. But, his eyes are rimmed with red. Then he turns back to face the windshield and grips the steering wheel so hard that he could break it.

"What's wrong with you? You look terrible."

He coughs up something in his lungs. He's been a smoker for his whole life.

"Leo, I'm fine". He doesn't look back this time. He presses the gas pedal down stomping on the floor board with a thud. He yanks the wheel again and speeds down the middle of the street, straddling the yellow line.

"Jefe seriously. You're going too fast. Do you want us to die?" He doesn't say a word this time. He accelerates again making everything outside the window a blur. He is weaving through cars at an unbelievable rate. As we pass each car on the road they release a deafening blare.

"You're scaring me." I reach up to touch my Dad's shoulder but I just can't reach him. He jerks the wheel again as the tires scream with a screech making me fall across the back seat. I watch with wide eyes in suspense as he narrowly avoids every car on the road that I was sure we would collide with. Each abrupt turn of the wheel sends me falling to the right and to the left. When I sit back up I look through the windshield and am horrified to see an ambulance parked across all four lanes a little ways up the street.

"Jefe stop! Jefe!" He swerves again but still increases the speed. I think we're going past 100 mph. I want to shut my eyes, let out a scream or brace for impact, but before I can do any of that our car smashes into the ambulance. The car is crushed like a tin can with my father and me inside. I have no space to breathe and my lungs give out as a I try to call him one more time. I do see him smile a tear leaks from his eyes and he says with a calm cadence, "I told you we'd be fine, Mijo."

My heartbeat is pounding in my chest when I wake up. It's just another one. Dreams like these are the reasons I can't sleep at night. Wiping the tears off of my face I stumble on my way to grab my gray hoodie from my clothes drawer. My digital clock reads 7:07am. I pull on sweatpants, grab my keys and swiftly leave the room like the house is on fire. As I carefully go down the stairs to the front door, I'm sure to skip the unreliable ones that would squeak and rat me out. I really don't want to wake my mom. I feel bad for not telling Jefa but she doesn't need to know where I go. With a deep breath, I shove my hip into the door that's always jammed. I'm a 150 pounds of lean muscle so I really have to put all my weight into it.

I make my way over to the green car parked across the street from our house. I pull on the rusted handle of my Dad's old green pickup truck until the door opens with an agonized squeak. His old truck is the color green of old chewed up mint flavored gum. I hop up and settle on the worn leather of the driver seat. I flip down the sun visor to show the picture of my parents beaming with joy on their honeymoon. It's an old and worn photograph, but I wouldn't ever think of taking it out. The car has a permanent lingering smell of cigarettes because my Dad had a habit of smoking. He always told me "I'm a slave to this and I'm a fool for smoking." He held up the cigarette in the air. "Don't ever start Mijo". The most convincing part about that was the cigarette in his hand. It showed me just how much he hated something but he didn't have the power to get rid of it. That's why I've never touched a cigarette.

He hated this old car, but I love it. It's the only thing I have that's left of him. When I sit in his car I smell him and I feel him just like he's alive. That new sleek black BMW, that was the thing that killed him. Not this one. Even though I love it more that he ever did, and he's not here to drive it anymore, it will still always be his car. I lean on the steering wheel and look out at the gray clouds that are blocking the view of a blue sky. With a shake of my head I jam the key into the ignition. After a couple attempts to get the engine to turn over I start off on my familiar route to the cemetery.