Fish Pageants and Car Crashes

 I have not been writing as much in the last few weeks because going back to work has been exhausting. Today I am sharing an old piece I wrote because I am still working on this week's post, but still wanted to put something out in the meantime. (Stay tuned!) 

I wrote this piece for my freshman year seminar during my first semester at Saint Mike's. Boy my writing has progressed- and I have matured (I would have written it in a different lens today)- but this is actually still pretty good.

tw: Shad Derby, car crashes

written on 11/9/15

March 24th 2015

10:00 pm

My face hurt from smiling too widely at the judges. I had only just entered the room, and butterflies were erupting in my stomach. This was going to be a long interview. The judges introduced themselves one by one. The first judge was seated on the far left. He was not very impressionable. He was a nondescript, balding man. The second, right of him, was a sweet woman who looked to be in her mid fifties. She desperately tried to hold on to her youth by wearing an ill-fitting red dipped V-neck and dying her hair Carrot Top red. The third, on the far right,  was a young woman with a Polish accent who had dazzling eyes, long brunette hair, and a fabulous figure. However the purse of her lips and fitted pant suit made her look too severe for her age. Her demeanor made me feel mildly uncomfortable. 

I took a seat in a swivel chair across from the judges. The interview began and I nervously swiveled while rattling off answers faster than my brain could conjure them. One of the questions asked was, “ What advice would you give your middle school self?”  I paused for a moment and started babbling about “pushing myself harder- past my comfort zone” and that I should have started to seriously engage in my passions much earlier. (In middle school I had very few friends and struggled with confidence.) I rattled on about how I pushed myself past my comfort zone in high school when I started auditioning for honors ensembles for flute and began running cross country. It seemed like a pretty satisfactory answer. And then the young, pursed lipped brunette asked me in her Polish accent:

“Can you give us an example of how exactly you push yourself out of your comfort zone?” I laughed to myself. It was just earlier that day that I overcame stressful circumstances… And they knew it.

Earlier that day 6:30 pm

I looked myself up and down in the Marriott bathroom mirror. I was a mess. My face was red and puffy from crying my eyes out for the past, jeez, nearly an hour! My makeup was gone thanks to my tears and the rain. However, my hair surprisingly was not as frizzy as I anticipated. Tears still flowed hot down my face. I lost control of my tear ducts. What did it feel like to have dry eyes? I couldn’t remember. I blew my nose violently into a flimsy, disappointing, brown napkin. God, if only I had a real soft, perhaps Puffs tissue. Right when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the two female judges came into the bathroom. Great. I avoided all eye contact. But I knew they saw me. I knew they saw me falling apart at the seams. I knew they saw me. I knew they knew what had happened. Everyone knew now.

Even earlier that day… 5:45 pm

The crunch of metal still rang in my ears. My hands gripped the steering wheel as if the crash were about to happen all over again. Sitting in my mom’s Toyota Highlander, I couldn’t help thinking that what had just happened was just a dream. Or better yet, it had never occurred in the first place. “No”, I thought. I was not just hit by another car. Not me. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to me. I was a good kid; I didn’t ever go over five miles above the speed limit, let alone party, drink, or skip class. Heck, the weekend before I was at the New England Music Festival playing the flute for three days straight with a bunch of other band nerds. My thoughts whirled as I stared blankly at the road in front of me. I was stopped in the middle of the street, turning into the Marriott. Perhaps I could start the car up again and make it to the other side. Perhaps. 

I turned the key in the ignition and coaxed the accelerator. The Highlander desperately tried to move with no avail. It felt as if I were on the Six Flags antique car ride, trapped on a track. The defeated hum of my mother’s car at that moment reminded me of that forced stopping of the amusement park car. I was a child again in a situation that was far more adult than I could handle. 

I turned the car off and, for the first time, turned my head and saw what was left of the car that hit me. My heart sank as I began to register the wreckage. My right side had been smashed into by a little white car. Its windows were shattered and all of its airbags had deployed. I couldn’t help but notice that the airbags resembled melting marshmallows. The woman in the vehicle came out of the tangle of marshmallows and approached me with the most terrified expression I had ever seen. She came over to the car and asked me, “Are you okay?”

As those words echoed in my ears, the waterworks commenced. In between sobs I blubbered, “Yes.” After all, I was alive and did not appear to have sustained any injury at that time. 

“You’re so young!” She choked, “I’m so sorry! This was probably your first car crash!” Worry overcame her voice and a whirlpool of tears cascaded down my cheeks. She wasn’t making me feel any better. 

5:50 pm

A cop approached the car and asked me for my name, license and registration, and proof of insurance. I never thought I would be asked for this stuff. I rummaged through the glove compartment and found everything besides proof of insurance. I became a sobbing mess when trying to explain to the cop I couldn’t find proof of insurance. 

“Is there anyone you can call who knows where it is?” The cop asked. At that moment I realized I had neglected to bring my cell phone. The one time I don’t bring my cell phone I almost die. Of course. I explained to the police officer that I had forgotten my cell phone. He asked me to step out of the car and make my way to the curb. 

Stepping out of the car felt as if I were getting out of a vehicle for the first time. My legs wobbled and my stomach felt as if it were going to fly away. Looking to the other side of the street, worried members of the Shad Derby Queens Competition Committee watched me from the curb. I knew all of them because I was a Shad Derby contestant. I became aware again that I had been on my way to the Shad Derby interview. 

10 years ago… May 2005

Let me explain this whole “Shad Derby” thing. When I was eight years old, my mother was a member of the Shad Derby Queens Competition. The competition is a town tradition dating back to 1965. Every year 10-20 girls ages 17-19 compete in the town competition. Each girl has to prepare two speeches and is interviewed by judges. The girl with the best speeches and interview becomes Shad Derby Queen. The last speech is given at the Shad Derby Ball, where the Shad Derby Queen is crowned. The Shad Derby Queen and her court wear pageant sashes and ride on a float in the Shad Derby Parade held annually in May for the whole town to see. I remember my mother handling the sashes on my white tiled kitchen table. I asked them what they were for.

“They’re for the Shad Derby girls,” she said, folding them on a hanger.

“I wanna be a Shad Derby girl!” I exclaimed with excitement.

“When you’re a senior in high school you can do it! Here try on one of the sashes!” My mother pinned a sash saying “2005 Shad Derby Queen.” (I had to stand on a kitchen chair so the sash wouldn’t drag on the ground.) 

“Look Emily, you’re a Shad Derby Queen!” She laughed at how ridiculously long it looked on my eight year old frame. At that moment I knew that I wanted to be a part of this event.

“Practice your princess wave!” My mom exclaimed. I waved with the utmost grace and poise an 8 year old could muster.

March 24th 2015

6:00 pm

My heart was racing when I stepped out of the car and heard the screeches of an ambulance. I locked eyes with the Shad Derby Committee members as I made my way across the street. The rain kissed my face as I reached the warm embrace of one of the committee members. One of them wrapped a blanket around me as I shook, trembling from the cold and the trauma. They held an umbrella over my head and I was spun around facing the street. My first glance at the carnage as a whole made my heart sink. A lump formed in my throat when I took in the wet wreckage of metal, realizing that if I had been in the passenger’s seat, I could have died. 

“Shh, you’re okay sweetie. It’s okay. Your mom is going to be here any moment now. Michelle’s mom went to go get her from your house. You need to calm down.” One of the committe members reassured me. But I couldn’t calm down because I had just remembered:

“My mom is going to be so mad. We just bought a new radiator!” 

“That is so silly! Your mom will be relieved that you are okay. Who cares about the radiator? That can be replaced. A car can be replaced. You, however, cannot.” Tears still cascaded down my face. I was slightly aware that my feet were starting to become numb and that my hair, which I had taken extra time to straighten for the interview, was starting to frizz.

“Is this a first?” I asked with a joking curiosity. My voice came out muffled. My face was pressed into their shoulder, which had become a snot covered mess.

“Is what a first?” they replied.

“That someone got into a car accident on the way to the interview?”

We both let out a chuckle as I still struggled to stop myself from crying. 

“Yes it is Emily, I do believe it is a first.”