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Autobiographical Narrative When I Got Essay

He didn't look at me, and didn't say anything. I noticed that the car had four passengers; it might have been a mother and father, and two daughters, both very close to my age. The eldest was on her cell phone. "at the intersection of State Street and Main. There were three cars involved," she breathed gently.

"Are you guys alright?" came a voice from the other side of the car. A man was jogging toward us from the direction of the compact car, apparently shaken, but unharmed. I couldn't reply. I couldn't talk. I wasn't fine, and all I could think was that I wanted to be home, without blood on my forehead or hands, without having done this. The family in the SUV was probably headed home when I hit them. They were going to have a nice night until I came along, not paying attention, having fun, chasing my rebellion. But at least they were...

The man in the compact car didn't have his family with him. What would happen when they found out? I could have killed him. They would be so worried. Like my mom was about me earlier. And now she had reason to worry. And I understood.
She had always had reason to worry. She knew I was 16, knew I threw tantrums, knew I chased the idea of freedom through rebellion. She knew I was reckless, and she feared when I missed my curfew earlier, that what had happened now, happened then. But we fought and I left in rage and fear -- how much more worried must she be now? I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed with trembling fingers. It rang only once.

"Mom? I love you," I said, when she came to the phone.

"Honey? What happened?" Mom knew I loved her, and she knew that I realized she had been right all along.

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