Remember, Remember

“My name is Kristila and that's my dead body lying on the asphalt just below that bridge.”

Okay. So maybe it's not the best way to introduce myself, but at least it's not a lie. I really am, or I guess was, Kristila Elson and that really is my dead body over there. Which, from at least where I am some hundreds yards above the scene of my death, is blocking three lanes of traffic. I wonder if I’ll be on the six o’clock news?

If none of you believe me though, check the school id in my purse. Unless of course my friends were too lazy just to take the money I had in my wallet, simply and instead took the whole thing. As I'm letting out a long sigh, I can't help but to reconsider my choice in friends. But I guess it's not all their fault. If they had died right in from of me, I might have even sifted through their things. Though probably because I'd forgotten my cell and was digging for theirs to call 911. I guess that’s what I get for not being a bit more selective with my friends. Oh well. I'm sure they'll be more respectful at my funeral. If not, I could always haunt them. That'd be fun for me at least.

So now that that's over, you all know that it's me, right? If not, smack yourself for not believing in such a trustworthy girl like me. Now I know what you're thinking; if I'm so “trustworthy” why is the pavement painted red with my cranial matter. That's a very good question I admit. But! There is an even better answer for it.

Now you're all psyched, I know, to find out how a girl like me ended up with that. I'm sure my awesome would move people to tears! Maybe someone should right my confessions into a book. Despite my urge to maintain my composure, my eyes can't help but glimmer with happiness at this. It could even be made into a movie! I would who they would cast to be me? They could even cast Johnny Depp as the prince-like boyfriend I, always dreamed of but, never had! Oh how lovely it would be. Too bad I'm dead and can't play me on my own.

Which, in essence, would be redundant. Ha, I'm sure wherever my English teacher he's weeping with joy that I finally used that word correctly. Anyways like I said, it would be redundant. Only if I died in some overly tragic way would my life story mean enough to be made into a book popular enough to gain a movie purpose which gets approved.

Damn.

I can't remember what I was saying...Oh yeah! I was going to answer the question of how I died. Well, I did say it was “overly tragic.” But, for those worried that I was some emotional cutter, you can put those concerns to rest. I didn't commit suicide. I can see how that can be hard to believe, but it's true I tell you. The wire fencing that usually keeps people from doing dumb stuff like that was missing from around the border of the bridge railing. So there. With a hard stick-out of my tongue, I know I have successfully put those stupid rumors to rest, as well as my mature facade. I guess if something had to die with me, it was those sorry attempts at pretending to be older.

Where was I? Why is it even if the afterlife that my poor short-term memory still plagues me? Am I cursed? Wait, it's coming back to me. I remember now. I was going to say to those still wondering what real purpose there was in listening to how I died if I hadn't committed suicide and simply wanted to tell my tragic story is: there is still a lesson to be learned with by my death. Shocking, I know. That I would really turn my life into an inspirational story for others even after all I've been through.

It's just my way of making sure no one gets the publicity that I'm going to get from all this. Sniffing back tears, it once again hits me that I can't even relish in any of it either. Life really does hate me.

Anyways though, since I need to stop with the lame guilt trips since it’s not like I am friends enough with the grim reaper to beg for life back. It would be hard to explain with that head trauma anyways.

So to begin my story, I can't just tell you the exact moments leading up to my death because then you won't really understand how that moment came to be. Instead, I guess, I'll need to start from the beginning and set the foundation of how I was made into what I was, which ultimately led to my demise. Only then will someone fully grasp the meaning of the lesson that my life story explains. So here I go!

To say my childhood was pleasant would be an out-n'-out lie. How anyone can consider spur-of-the-moment-no-real-escape wrestling matches with 2 older brothers “pleasant” is beyond me. If someone does, they must be crack. With a few pondering scratches of my temple, I realize that may that's a bit excessive to say the least. Maybe it wasn't pleasant but it wasn't so bad either.

See, here's the thing. My mom died when I was really young and though my dad and my brothers suffered real bad from it, they still helped to raise me altogether. So, while I did turn out a bit rough around the edges, I was still feminine enough to know the benefit of looking pretty in a skirt. That is, just to add, even if I was wearing combat boots with said-skirt.

I sort of turned out to be a lipstick sort of girl that could punch like any guy her age or maybe a bit older. This does say that while I may not have won all of these spur-of-the-moment-no-real-escape wrestling matches, I didn’t always lose either. Recalling their agitated crying screams of mercy while my manicured fingers dug into them still makes me smile. They may have been overly-arrogant, but with good reason, assholes from time to time but I did love my brothers. Because for one, and if nothing else, they were quite nice to look at while I made them wash my car after loosing wrestling matches they'd placed bets on.

Okay, wait one second and hang on a minute. If someone ever does make my memoirs into a confess-all-book, do make it a point to cut that part out. I don't want it known my thoughts regarding my brothers' hotness. Despite any truth their may be in the fact. It would be just too weird. Especially if, you know, they felt the same way or somethin'.That would be an interesting thing to say as they visit my tombstone. Since, if I was listening, I'd never forget it!

But even before that, my papa would die of a heart attack from it all. That is, if he hasn't died now that I've called him “papa” versus “father” or “dad” in public. He'd probably give me a good whack on the head for it too. I cringe just thinking about it. I don't really understand his reasoning so much for not letting me call him that in public, much less in the house if my friends are over. If it's just my brothers and me, he doesn't so much mind.

My papa thinks that it makes him less or a man to be called something like “papa” instead of “dad.” Makes him out to be like a teddy bear he said. Far too cuddly. I sort of think that is crap since my dad is too feminine or his, or my, own good. I mean, really, any man who sings old Christina Aguilera tracks while cooking something off of that Food Network channel or whatever, has to be feminine. Even I don’t sing aloud! Well, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. But at least I don’t wail like a dying kitten being suffocated.

Never mind any of that though. I still have my story to tell, don't I? What was I talking about last? Oh yeah. Like I was saying, since I grew up in a primarily male-based household, I have a very hard masculine streak within me too. Which was usually bad for most of the guys I dated. The fact that their girlfriend could not only beat them in arm-wrestling but flip them and pin them to a mat without being able to recover, hurt the pride in almost every guy I dated. Expect my latest boyfriend, Zack. Not only was he not absolutely offended and wanted to break up with me on the spot before the word got out, but he laughed about it. I can't remember right off hand if I really loved or even liked him while we were dating, but if I wasn't, I was being stupid.

Now that I think about it actually, we were still dating up to the moment I died. Aww shit! I forgot that he asked me to prom too! I had a dress picked out and everything. Sure, it wasn't still four or so months away, but I wanted to be prepared for the evening of my life. What ever will I do now!? I could just sort o ghost next to him and hop he shifts his body so it seems like I am dancing with him, but since I am stuck in what I died in, I'll probably skip it. Being in my school uniform would just make the moment suck really badly. So much for having wonderful high school memories.

Even if the day I died things hadn't been going so well, I had good memories otherwise. I was actually with a huge group of my friends when I died. Not all of them were close friends, but I did have that niche of people that just sort of expected me to be with them during school hours. See, we were supposed to be going to this retro roller rink on of my friend's mom had told him about and they were goofing around with a football they'd brought with them to pass the time it would take to walk the couple of miles to it. Not all of us had a car and we thought it would be more fun if we just walked and messed around to pass the time anyways.

I guess I shouldn't really say that they were playing around with the football, since they were mostly messing with the female part of our group. I don't remember which nitwit had secretly suggested to turn the tossing game into a keep-away game with the girls, but he was an idiot to say the least. Didn't be know who I was? I admit that in the beginning I was adding to the mayhem of their little game but only since Zack passed me the ball and sort of insinuated that I should join in with it. So I did.

It wasn't until about when Tiffany, one of my closer girlfriends, started crying because she hated to be picked on and thought that they were targeting her personally. She was such a crybaby. Lucky for her though, I was getting tired of playing the damn game anyways. Mostly though because the lame cracks the football players in our group were making about how I was handling the ball.

Instead of stopping the game like I asked on threat of groin punching, they started in on keeping it away from me. Zack, though, was part of the group of guys fearful that I would carry out my threat. They were the smart ones. So after the second guy I finally landed a punch on, the rest of the except for two or three others, all stopped with their lame antics. Tyler was the quarterback for the football team and the remaining guys were more afraid of what he would do to them than me.

After their third pass over my head as we started towards the end of the bridge, I knew what had to be done to stop them and Tiffany's endless crying. I pushed myself off one side of the bridge hand-railing and leaped for the ball just as it spiraled back towards Tyler's hands. Too bad for me though, I was off in my angle and went too high, which was why when I went to grab the concrete edge of the bridge, it wasn't there.

This is, as much as I hate and curse myself for it, why my body is lying in such an unnatural way on the asphalt of Highway 137.

I’m sure you’re all weeping for my wondrous tale of courage and all but that’s not even the worst part of it all. Yeah, death is sort of final. But my legacy ain’t! Ooo…Hope my English doesn’t read my memoirs. Since I’m sure I used that contraction wrong. Don’t matter though, I guess. What’s he going to do? Kill me?

Ha! I went an’ did it for him.

So, like I was saying, my legacy is the worst part. I mean, look! My skirt is almost so high up on my thighs that if you just bent over a bit you could see my panties! This is bad because they aren’t even my cutest ones!

Ugh.

My hair is a mess too. I knew I should have taken the time that morning to use for hairspray. And my make-up! Don’t even get me started there. Since Zack was so desperate to make out in the janitorial closet before we went to meet up with everyone, I didn’t get a chance to fix his handy-work. Damn that boyfriend of mine!

All of you are probably wondering what it matters since a third or so of my skull was turned to pulp on my impact, but you just ain’t seeing the big picture. I’m going to be on the six o’clock news! See! There’s the channel 7 news copter now. Man…

This just isn’t fair! I can only hope they don’t do a…whatever that word is when they cut someone open to check out what made someone die. You know what word it is, right…? Au…Au-something it was.

If I had known someone was going to be staring that hard at my frame, I would have begged my much-too-feminine-for-his-own-good dad harder for those implants.

Even with all that, I’m sure that the tear-jerking story of an up and rising Yale…Yeah, you heard me. I got accepted to Yale. My brothers even called the student office to see if it a hoax!

Anyways, I’m sure all that is enough to be news-worthy either way. Make sure you all buy a copy of my confessions book. It’ll be worth a lot in a few years.

Trust me.

If you can’t trust the dead girl who’s going to haunt into submission all those who can make it on the New York best seller list, who can you trust?