Fateful Choices
TRUCK
FATEFUL CHOICES
It was my senior year. I had just turned 17, precisely 64 days before that fateful 28TH day of February 1983. Basketball season had just finished, and we had a week off before baseball practice would begin. My buddy Todd, who lives in Hawkins Bar with his parents, had been staying at my house since about January 4TH because of an enormous mudslide that had closed highway 299 about 3 miles from his house, and the only other road you could take around the slide had 5 feet of fresh snow on it. So every morning we would take the good ole? ?shame train?(as we used to call it back then) to school in the morning and then Todd?s Dad would pick us up after school. I remember that it was pretty damn warm that day, around 87 degrees. I can feel the rays beaming down, not a cloud in the sky, which meant for a fast, dusty and oh so quick ride that as perfect for some high speed .road was dry, perfect for high speed.
For some stupendous reason I let my little head do my thinking that deadly afternoon, so instead of riding home with Todd
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