When I stepped out of the van, the air was thick with the sharp tang of gasoline and something heavier—something final. Two vehicles, head-on, both crushed inward like they’d been folded in on themselves. The flashing lights painted everything in red and blue. I approached the smaller car first. The girl in the passenger seat—still in her prom dress, hair curled, corsage still pinned to her wrist—was already gone. I noted the time and quietly marked the location. A moment ago, she’d been a teenager laughing in a limo. Now, she was a report I’d have to write in the cold light of morning.
The second victim was slumped over the steering wheel of the other car, a boy no older than seventeen. Blood on the dash, hands still clutching the wheel like he never saw it coming. His tux jacket was torn, a boutonniere crushed flat against his chest. I’ve seen hundreds of scenes, but the contrast never gets easier—the joy of youth frozen in one final moment. As I recorded his details, I couldn’t help but glance toward the road, still scattered with bits of prom night—shattered phones, a glittered heel, a cracked photo booth print. We collect the facts, speak softly to the silence, and carry the weight of what’s left behind.
Special occasions are for making memories. Take time beforehand to talk about staying safe on the roads to ensure the memories are good.