When I was young, I did something I haven’t told anyone and have been keeping it all these years.

The story below was submitted anonymously last night. Thank you to the author for sharing this story. — Worst of Me Blog



When I was young, I did something I haven’t told anyone and have been keeping it all these years. I was visiting my grandparents during the holidays. I was especially close to them and spent more time with them than with my parents, who divorced when I was just 7 years old. So while at my grandparents, Grandma asked if I could drive to the city to pick up an old typewriter from her high school friend’s house who recently passed away. It was one of those mechanical typewriters that young folks don’t see nowadays. Grandma’s high school friend left in her will that the typewriter was supposed to go to Grandma. Not sure what the back story of that one is, but thought I’d mention that.

So I left for the city in my new car, which was just a couple of months old. The city was about an hour away and I left around 4 pm. When I got there, I went to Grandma’s friend’s house and met the widower husband. Let’s call him Mr. George. He was about the same age as my Grandma. He handed me the typewriter. It was heavy! So he offered to carry it to my car. I said I could manage and carried it out myself. I wanted to show him that I was a tough girl and didn’t need any help. He followed me to my car anyway to make sure I would make it there.

After placing that heavy thing in the trunk, he asked if I would stay for dinner. I looked at my watch and said, “Sure, why not? Thanks!” I asked if I could use his phone to call Grandma so she knows I’d be a little late going back.

After saying bye to Grandma and hanging up the phone, Mr. George asked me to help him set the table. So I did. And we had a good meal of lasagna. It was supposed to be his specialty and he mentioned that it was his late wife’s favorite. He said I could take home some if I wanted. It was very nice of him so I made myself a small doggie bag. I thought that Grandma and Gramps might want to try some, too.

I left Mr. George’s house close to 7 pm. I lost track of time with all the chatting we did. I kind of felt bad leaving him because he looked lonely and sad.

While driving, I happened to pass through an industrial area that had been converted into a bar district. There were not a whole lot of bars there, though. I wanted to stop for a drink. I debated whether or not to actually stop. And so I did. I parked in front of a small bar that had a tiny parking lot in front. There were already cars and trucks parked there, and I was worried that my car might get scratched or dinged. But I thought, what the heck?

I entered the bar. There was a small dance floor with the strobe lights already flashing. The music was on full blast and the lights were practically all turned off except for the strobe lights. I found my way to the bar, sat down, and ordered a beer. A few minutes later, a guy walked up to me and asked the usual “do you come here often?” I wasn’t wanting to chat so I didn’t put too much effort in keeping the conversation going. He offered to buy me my next beer and I said “I’d rather not. I’m driving out of town tonight.” But after his persistent asking, I caved in.

I ended up having 3 beers that night. Even after eating lasagna the alcohol still made me a little tipsy. I wanted to go so I got up and proceeded to walk outside. The guy who offered me beers asked, “Where are you going? We’re not done yet.” I said I needed to leave and that my boyfriend is waiting for me. (I didn’t have a boyfriend at that time.) He kept pulling me back to the bar and I kept pulling my arm back. I remember repeatedly saying “Let go of me!” He just laughed and said that I shouldn’t have taken up his offer if I wasn’t going to stay longer. The bartender told the guy to let me go, but the guy didn’t want to let go. A couple of guys who were there pulled him back and told him to let go. I immediately ran to the door and didn’t look back, I was so scared.

I got into my car and put in the key into the ignition. I realized that I was too buzzed to drive but I needed to leave the place. I started the car, put it in reverse, and jammed on the gas pedal. Then I heard a loud crashing sound as the back of my head hit the seat’s headrest. Then I drove forward a bit to maneuver the car out of the spot. While I was driving away, I looked at the vehicle I backed into. One end of the back bumper of the vehicle I hit was on the ground and one of the tail lights was smashed. There was a huge dent just below the trunk door. I panicked and sped out of the lot. I looked back in the rear view mirror to see if anyone was standing outside the door of the bar. I didn’t see anyone. That made me feel relieved even though I felt sick to my stomach at the same time.

I drove out of the city and then stopped at a gas station about 20 miles outside to check the damage on my car. Surprisingly the only damage on my car was the bumper—it got shifted up and a had a dent but not too bad. I couldn’t push it down to the original position so the damage was obvious.

When I got to Grandma and Gramps’ house, Grandma was waiting in the kitchen. I handed her the lasagna from Mr. George. She said, “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you. Are you ok?” I told them that everything was fine. She told Gramps, “Dear, could you please help her with the typewriter?” I told them that I could carry the typewriter from the car easily by myself. I got the typewriter out of the trunk and carried it into the house. I told Grandma that I’ll have to leave the next day to go back home because I had some work I needed to finish. She looked puzzled and asked why I didn’t tell them about it before. I had to come up with an excuse.

The next day, I got up very early so I could leave without them seeing the car. Unfortunately Gramps was an early riser and beat me to it. He was already outside to pick up the newspaper. When I got to my car, he was already standing there, staring at the damage. I told him that someone hit my car while it was parked on the street when I stopped at a store during my way back from the city. He gave me a weird look as if he didn’t believe me and then said that I should be more careful. I felt so guilty for lying to him. I had dug myself in a hole and I kept digging deeper.

When I got back home, which was earlier than I had planned, of course, I went to my auto insurance office to file a claim. I stuck to the lie and told them that someone hit my parked car and didn’t leave any note. My insurance agent didn’t ask for a lot of details during my meeting with her. A couple of weeks later, I got my car repaired and it looked like nothing happened.

I’ve kept quiet about this all these years.