Deanna Talamantez
Nobody said it was easy to do or deal with- but they didn’t say it was going to be this hard either.
I didn’t mean to do it. It was only my first time. Things like this occur every day but I just wish it didn’t happen to me and that I could take it back.
We were going to a birthday party in Palmdale and I was going to take the freeway route to get there, but my 17-year-old brother, in the passenger seat, convinced me to take the scenic route because it’d be faster.
I told myself it was OK, thinking “Why not?”
The afternoon sun strongly beamed down on the mountains to my right and made the long creek that was to my left brightly glisten, I was captivated by the day’s beauty.
Going through the winding canyon, it was as if we were the only ones on the two-way road, with an occasional car passing by us.
The moment was something to be grateful for-a beautiful afternoon, lovely scenic view of nature and two of my brothers to accompany me.
About half way to our destination, I gently turned the steering wheel to the right so it’d hug the mountain again.
Coming out of the turn, I accelerated to about 40 mph and saw that I wasn’t going to approach another curve for about two minutes.
I was studying the road ahead when it suddenly appeared in the street.
Instantly, I knew not to swerve because that would cause me to crash into the side of the mountain, go off the small cliff crashing into the creek or hit an oncoming vehicle.
I gasped for air and held my breath as I barely moved my car toward the lane divider.
My brother helplessly shouted, “Oh my gosh! Deanna!”
Our eyes were fixated on the living form that we were rapidly approaching within seconds.
In that minute, there was no music and the wind had stopped blowing.
It didn’t see me coming at first. Instead, it was busy trying to pick up something from the street.
Then, it looked back at me, paused, and scrambled to go back where it came from.
But it wasn’t fast enough or maybe I wasn’t slow enough and so, it happened. I killed a squirrel.
You know when your car drifts toward the reflectors on the street and you feel all those bumps under your tires?
Well, that’s how it felt– but there were only two bumps.
Immediately after, I pulled over into a turnout. I buried my face in the hands that had controlled the car seconds before and started to cry.
My brothers chuckled but yet felt bad for the squirrel and were considerate about how I felt when they comforted me.
It’s a memory that the three of us, especially me, won’t forget.
I feel horrible for killing a parent, sibling, cousin, mate-who knows what and when I remember the feeling of those two small bumps under the right side of my car, my shoulders touch my ears, my teeth clench and my stomach turns.
After discussing Shakespeare’s play, the Tempest, in a class this semester at California State University, Northridge, my professor said the difference between humans and animals is that humans know they are going to die.
At the time of the discussion, I agreed with the professor.
However, after seeing how the squirrel looked at me and hurriedly tried to run back into the mountains, I wonder otherwise.
Perhaps it knew.