Here you are, once again, at the threshold. Life, death, all balancing gently, oh so delicately, on the ends of your fingertips. You grip the wheel, press a little harder on the accelerator. Your body thrums with the power of it all, the sheer mechanical force at your command. You know that this is dangerous, you love that, the thrill is intoxicating beyond reasonable belief, as if you’ve stepped into a place where you are a god of speed, a comet, hurtling along through the pitch black emptiness of space around you. You can even see the stars, headlights, little pinpricks zooming past as you make your way down the highway at warp speed, blurring into stripes in the windshield. Your phone buzzes, you look over. Mom. You reach over. You never call her back.
This is a short piece, not quite poetry, not quite a narrative. Sometimes teenagers feel… invincible. We are far from it. Every simple slip or wrong move behind the wheel of a car could mean death. Don’t be the person that doesn’t call back.