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Scout, an attractive teen girl, sits in a slick wheelchair in her bedroom, recording a diary entry.
(Warning: Using this monologue without permission is illegal, as is reproducing it on a website or in print in any way.)
Mom was driving when it happened. We were coming back from dropping Angel off at dance class. I just went along for the ride, for no reason. It was a perfectly normal day. We were crossing the intersection at Washington, and this truck came out of nowhere. Ran the red light. Slammed right into the passenger side. I never even saw it coming. I hardly even felt a thing.
Until I woke up three days later. Then, it was pain like you can't describe: Pain is an excellent teacher. Mom was standing over me: she was fine, thank goodness, hardly hurt at all, just a scratch on her forehead. She said, "he was drunk. What were they thinking, letting a drunk man drive their truck…"
I think both she and Angel somehow feel responsible, in their own ways. Even though I tell them over and over…"it was just an accident! How could we have known?"