Pushing the Limits :: Personal Narrative Papers

Pushing the Limits Late one Friday night in the fall of 1995, while I was hanging out with the girls, my laughter stopped short as Jenny Williams’ large grandfather clock struck one time loudly throughout the old farmhouse. Our laughter and fun came to a halt. My parents’ curfew as well as my school driver’s permit curfew had long expired. Curfew would not have been an issue that night because most fifteen-year-olds would have been at home in bed. Because of my right to drive, my pride in being one of the few freshmen with their school permit came with its own benefits as well as consequences. The privilege to drive to school and back was a privilege easily taken advantage of. One of my rule breaking attempts was driving home from Jenny’s house at 1:00 in the morning. The plan to get home quickly almost backfired and I was almost stuck in a sticky situation, literally! I raced around Jenny’s cluttered house looking for my large wood carved key chain. I knew I needed to make fast tracks before the clock hands worked their way any farther. I found my keys at last and I was racing to my car. My competition with the undefeated clock was soon to begin. I started the engine and took off with the radio blaring like a foghorn, and the accelerator floored. I was about 15 minutes northwest of my house, but I was attempting to cut those minutes in half. As I approached Wellman, I pictured the late shift policeman, Jack Wright, sitting in his car at the town park parking lot just waiting to pull over and ticket some immature teenager like me. I decided to take a short cut down a dirt road, which would allow me to cut some time and avoid any unfriendly policemen. I charged away in my lightweight, manual, gray Chevy Spectrum that I liked to call â€Å"Junior.† While speeding along to Tom Petty’s, â€Å"You Wreck Me Baby,† I had not noticed the shower of mud flying from my cardboard-looking hub capped wheels. The thought crossed my mind to turn back, but the tires had already begun to spin hopelessly like a hamster’s wheel. I realized that turning back towards a possible cop was not an option. This road was not about to let me maneuver a three-point-turn-about either.