Neon

“Mom, Dad, I need a car.”

“You need no such thing,” Ryan’s father answered immediately. “You’re fine.”

“I do too need one. I just got my new job down in the city. How am I gonna get there?”

“We’ll drive you.”

“Right, sure, every day. Have fun with that.”

“Ryan,” his mother started but he had already stood and left the room, slamming his bedroom door in the process. Both parents sighed.

Two weeks later, Mrs. Sanders was washing her hands in the kitchen sink when she heard a car horn blow outside the garage. She and Mr. Sanders simultaneously ran outside onto the driveway. Ryan was standing next to his new car, a Dodge Neon with a silver racing stripe down the hood. He was smiling and said, “Well, whadda you think?”

“Where’d you buy that car?” his father snapped angrily.

“My buddy Sam knows this guy who works at the Dodge dealership in Abington. I got it for two grand. Like it?”

“No. Take it back or pay the insurance yourself.” His father threw up his hands and walked into the house. Mrs. Sanders rubbed her forehead.

The next night, Ryan was driving down the busy street outside his neighborhood. “This is the life,” he thought happily and reached down to change the radio station. When he looked up, he saw something run out into the road about thirty feet ahead. Panic took over as he realized he was going too fast to be able to stop in time so he did what most other people would probably do in his place. He jerked the wheel to the left. His car swerved one hundred and eighty degrees and as the tires squealed across the road, he hit the brakes hard.

BAM! He felt everything explode around him and then it was silent. There was blackness around his line of vision. Shards of glass sprinkled out of his hair. His hands, which once gripped the steering wheel, were covered in dark blood. Something was trickling down the back of his neck and there was something sticking out of his chest through his skin and shirt. Tears were rolling down his face and he screamed, though he couldn’t move his head. He and his prized car, which he had wanted since he was thirteen, were both destroyed.

Finally he laid his head down on the top of the steering wheel, sending glass spattering toward the floor, and closed his eyes. He, Ryan Sanders, captain of the hockey team, and secretary of the National Honor Society, slowly slipped away.

And the moral is, be careful what you wish for.