Essay on Memoir: American Films and Bryan

Scar Story On some days I can still feel the blood dripping from my forehead. The pain I felt then –when I really think about it- I can feel it again, like it just happened. I was with Bryan. Bryan was your typical 17 year old who had just gotten a new car. He was competitive and a show off. He was kind hearted, soft touched and a sweet heart. The funny thing about Bryan’s competitiveness was that he was only competitive when it came to me. We would compete over anything and everything, how fast we ate, how much we ate, who could drink what, who could drink more, who could cook the best, who wrote the nicest, who wrote the fastest, who was better at video games; we could turn anything into a competition, who was the fastest, the neatest, the best at everything. We were on our way to pick my sister up, in North Broadalbin, when Bryan and I had the thought of being stupid and reckless cross our minds. Driving down Turkey Farm Road, we had decided to turn left on Sandhill Road. As I stated earlier, Bryan and I were very competitive with one another.
Going down Sandhill Road, I mocked Bryan’s lack of speed. “I went 95 with my sister” I said. He replied with “Oh yeah?” with a little crooked smile and a daring look in his eye. We were picking up speed quickly, and I egged him on “This is nothing, I thought you were ‘macho-man‘” Now if you know what Sandhill Road is like, then you know; the pavement is torn up and uneven, there are pot holes all over the street and there are several hills that you can’t see over until you get on top of them. The last time I saw the speedometer it read 108 mph. I remember Bryan looking at me and telling me to hold on. Suddenly, we were on the wrong side of the road, plowing through trees.
More scared than I have ever been, I realized we were upside down and Bryan had been knocked out. The thought of him being dead kept replaying in my head, over and over. As we were flipping through the trees, we hit something – a tree stump maybe – and the car had started barrel rolling. The sound and site of my window shattering was terrifying. Sending shards of glass in every direction, it had been embedded in my face, my legs, and my arms. Suddenly, I felt the roof of the car and my head collide and the blood came rushing down my face. Shortly after, the car came to a complete stop and I pulled myself out of the passenger window, which was now just an empty space. I took a few seconds to collect my thoughts and look around to see the damage. I saw there were tree limbs everywhere, lying with the shattered

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