Every Fifteen Minutes

Josue Franco

Mrs. Mueller

English 100, MW 8-10AM

August 27, 2003

Every Fifteen Minutes

“Every fifteen minutes, someone in the United States dies from an alcohol related traffic accident.”

The year 2001 had gone and 2002 had been rung in. With another year under the belt, and the birth of a new one, Bellflower High School hustled and bustled as the entire school came back from the Winter Break, prepared for the last leg of the first semester. I opened the doors to the high school office and strolled through the hall. I glanced over at the crude map of the United States which consisted of rugged tiles of various colors, held together with some sort of adhesive compound. I noted the three major mountain ranges that protruded from the three dimensional map and continued onward, toward the principal’s office.

I needed to broadcast the morning announcements. I was the first junior vice president of the Associated Student Body since as long as I could remember. And I was responsible to deliver the pledge of allegiance and activities announcements in the absence of the president. I glimpsed at the timepiece above one of the three entrances to the room then darted a glare down the hall, but I did not see the president. The bell had rung and it was time to clutch the microphone and address the awaiting public of the school.

“Good morning, Buccaneers!” I shouted over the intercom.

After the announcements the assistant principal, Mr. Driggs, motioned and told me that he needed to see me in his office. He had such a stern voice and I was unable to decipher whether or not this call was a positive or negative. I returned the announcements to the manila folder and tucked it next to the microphone. I exited the room and made a sharp left into a narrow hall that led to Mr. Driggs’ lair. I strolled down the hall a bit cautious.

“It’s the Fuzz… RUN!” I whispered.

I needed to lighten the load, so I decided a comical bit couldn’t harm the situation. I turned the knob and entered the room. The light from the morning sun pierced through the blinds of his office. The room was a bit chilled due to the air conditioner. Before I observed the rest of the enclosure he commanded me to close the door. I turned and complied with the order.

The assistant principal of activities, Mr. Driggs explained the situation. He extended to me the offer to become involved with the “Every Fifteen Minutes” program for the second time. The program was designed to provide a real life example of the horrible atrocities alcohol commits. Before the end of last year I was approached to enter the program but couldn’t since I was unable to attend the first meeting. I dodged the first bullet back in 2001, but pressed for time and students willing to follow through on their commitment, Mr. Driggs’ impressed upon me his dire need. I stared at the pen apprehended in his hand and the call for help which gleamed from his aged face. The feeling had transformed from trepidation to obligation. I thought about the consequences if I denied the pitch. I couldn’t and I needed to step up and exhibit the qualities of a student leader.

“Sure,” I replied and he handed me the packet which explained the program.

He posed some questions and presented some final comments regarding the program, such as the first meeting, what he wanted to accomplish and the benefits from participation. Before I exited the meeting he commended my decision. I acknowledged with a timid nod of head and slight grin and with that I exited the room and entered the main office. I passed the map of the United States for the second time, and I became overwhelmed with thought. I stood still, gazed over the piece of art and noted the three main mountain ranges: the Appalachians, the Rockies, and the Sierra Nevada range. I thought about all the people in the nation and questioned the fact that four people would die each hour in an alcohol related traffic accident.

I headed to Spanish class and admired the environment. The shine of the sun blinded but also gave life. I became empowered for I was given the rare chance to issue an enormous impact. That impact would be more than I could imagine.

Before I unfastened the door to Spanish, in a low voice referred to the world and myself; “I am only going to be here once. I need to make the most of my time here.”

That cold spring morning had arrived. More than six months of preparation on behalf of the administration in collaboration with the local police, fire, and medical departments had boiled down to a series of events, which debuted with the staged automobile accident. It was cold and a torrent of contemplation prevented me from obtaining a good night’s rest. I came to school in the morning for a briefing of what was going to occur. The police officer in charge of the entire program, Deputy Ford, announced the three who would be involved in the car accident. He read the names, and it was decided that I would be the front seat passenger who was ejected from the car. A question and answer session followed and then the three chosen ones were hurried off to the police station for make up.

Upon entrance into the station, I, along with the other two, were greeted with warm smiles and handshakes. I was praised for our involvement and election to be the crash victims. I explored the police den; it had a welcoming face but presented me with an odd gut feeling. I entered a small room and was given a gash on the forehead.

“It’s time, let’s go! We got to go now!” Mr. Ford charged with a firm tone.

I exited the room and rushed from the staging area then to the scene of the crime. There was little time to absorb the entire situation, but I noted the experience of riding behind the cage. The back seat was made of plastic, so it could be cleaned with a water hose and sponge. I felt trapped and unwanted. It was eerie to be so confined, I looked out the window but saw a blur. Aware of nothing but the hard synthetic fiber that pressed my body, I rested and waited to reach my final destination.

I lay motionless on the cold, dark asphalt. I could feel the ground quiver as hundreds of students approached the head-on collision. Alcohol had been involved. I pressed against the ground as the crowd grew louder. Several important questions rushed through my mind: What were they going to say? How were they going to react? How were they going to feel after this?

I shivered in anticipation, “Here we go!” I screamed within the confine of my brain.

The heat from my body began to dissipate into the cold spring morning atmosphere as the sun was hidden behind a streak of clouds and unable to provide warmth. I bore down on the shattered glass from the windshield I flew through. Dripped from the huge gash on my forehead, the cool blood bombarded the ground, creating a pool. My lifeless self lay without movement in the middle of the road; I awaited the medical vehicles and technicians for I wanted to be saved.

“This one is dead.” I assumed said a medical technician, for I had no vision.

I reminisced about my life. I was consumed with memories that had been stored but now unleashed. The giant labyrinth which contained an infinite amount of paths and infinite amount of doors seemed to unravel in my closed revelation as more sirens screamed towards me. For the first time, in a long time, I felt free. I no longer had obligation, for I was dead. Frustration lingered.

The sirens that hurried to the scene, exited in a quiet and solemn mode. The helicopter had landed, transporting the two victims from the mangled vehicle, and lifting off into the spring space, never to be seen again. The corpse was the last to be transported from the scene. I had gone limp from the massive chill that had frozen me. I was rolled into a mortician’s shopping bag and fumbled into a black hearse.

When asked if I wanted the bag to be unzipped, I responded with a daring “No.” For the next time, I would not have the benefit of viewing the inside and feeling condensation collect above me in the texture of the fiber.

The life lived no longer mattered, for its brief flight out of the metal coffin had been its last reach for the stars. I was mad, disappointed that this life, had ended in such a horrible fashion. It didn’t die fighting for a noble idea such as order or justice but sacrificed for an unfilled bottle. It had so much promise, so much desire to bring change about in the world, but that promise turned and ended on a metallic point. It came to be just another statistic, just another “someone” on that three dimensional wall art that dies “Every Fifteen Minutes.”