A Fatal Evening

It had been the worst day of Kevin's life. EVER.

It started out as a cool, crisp October evening, three years previous. Kevin and Patrick were on their way home from a Halloween party on the other side of the Allegheny. They had enjoyed the party, which had been held at the enormous home of one of Kevin and Patrick's wealthier friends from their soccer league. Once the party wrapped up, Kevin climbed into Patrick's old BMW with his friend at the wheel. The roads, empty at this late hour, were already beginning to glisten with dew. After driving for ten minutes, Patrick merged onto the arching 31st Street Bridge. When they were about halfway across the bridge, a truck - obviously driven by someone who had too much to drink - suddenly veered into the lane in front of the BMW. Patrick swerved - the wrong way. The BMW broke through the roadside barrier and plunged into the Allegheny River below.

One moment, Kevin had been chatting and joking with Patrick. The next, he was trapped, rapidly submerging into the gloomy Allegheny. Kevin panicked. All that he knew was that he had to get out. He unbuckled his seatbelt. He shoved on the door of the BMW, no easy task due to the pressure of all the water. Thrusting himself out of the car against the incoming surge of murky water, Kevin swam in the direction that he thought was up. Finally, he broke the surface and swam toward the nearest shore, that of Washington's Landing, an island in the middle of the Allegheny.

Shivering, Kevin crawled ashore. Turning around, he could see the lights of the BMW slowly fading away as the car sank to the bottom of the muddy river. What he didn't see was Patrick. Frantic, Kevin pulled out his cell phone, dialing 911. Amazingly, the phone worked despite its venture underwater, though Kevin could hardly hear over the static.

"911, what is your problem?" the operator asked.

"My friend...just drove...off a bridge," Kevin gasped.

"What is your location?"

"Washington's Landing, 31st Street Bridge."

"Emergency services are on their way."

"I can't see him anywhere," Kevin shouted.

"Stay calm, stay calm," the operator replied. "Whom can't you see?"

"Patrick, my friend, the one who was driving."

"Once the River Patrol arrives, they'll be able to help you find your friend. Just stay on the line until they get there."

Lights flashing, the police showed up, followed by an ambulance and even a firetruck. Kevin could already see a boat out on the river searching for the sunken BMW. A medic tried to convince Kevin to get into an ambulance to warm up so that he wouldn't get hypothermia, but Kevin refused to cooperate until they had found Patrick.

A little over an hour later, the river patrol was able to pull the car up from the bottom of the river. Patrick was inside, still buckled into his seat, hunched over in pallid death. Kevin was so devastated that he could no longer stand. The medic finally guided him into the back of the ambulance, which drove off to the local hospital.

Kevin awoke the next morning not knowing where he was. Looking around, he realized he was in the hospital. That's when it hit him: Patrick was dead.

Kevin's life was shattered. He had known Patrick for as long as he could remember. The two friends had done everything together, from soccer to orchestra. They were virtually inseparable. Everyone they knew couldn't think of one without thinking of the other.

Kevin was so racked with grief that he didn't show up to school for weeks. His grades began to slip, and he lost weight. Not even an acceptance letter to Johns Hopkins cheered him up. With the death of his closest companion, his life would never be the same again.