[ WP ] Write a story that seems like a cliffhanger untill you reread the first line .

I focus too much on `` the accident'' and what it took from me. `` The accident'', as my mother exclusively refers to it, was exactly that. An accident. I know this, but it does n't make me feel any less guilty when I ca n't sleep at night. 
 
 My dad taught me to drive when I was 16 in an old red farm pickup with paint flaking off the doors. Dad was a seasoned pro, raised on tractors and trucks. There seemed to be some unwritten rule in our family that kept my sister and me in the house while my brothers helped with farm work and driving heavy machinery. Maybe that ’ s the way it was for a reason. I was n't some reckless daredevil behind the wheel; just a nervous kid who could barely reach the pedals. 
 
 One Wednesday after school, we drove from one side of the county and back again. My hands were white knuckled and sweaty, clutching at 10 and 2. He yelled when I braked and he yelled more when I did n't. He was n't a particularly paranoid person, but a father that wanted his child safe behind the wheel. He drilled me on four way stops, lectured me on distracted driving, and taught me to parallel park between two hay bales in a pasture filled with cattle. 
 
 We set off down a side road and he turned the radio up as he warbled along to a dated Willie Nelson song. As each moment passed, I felt more and more at ease. 
 
 `` That ’ s it,'' he urged, `` Straighten the wheels and keep your speed up!'' 
 
 I can remember looking over at him and laughing, delighting in the pride that stretched his smile from ear to ear. I started to press my foot slightly harder on the gas as we tore down the gravel road. 
 
 At least that's a story I like to imagine. My dad died six weeks before my 16th birthday when he hit his head and drowned... 
 
 

