March 2011
Dean had always loved cars, from when he was tiny, they were all he thought about. His first words were 'car' and 'bus.' As he grew up he enjoyed helping his dad with the car. He was delighted one day while roaming in the woods to find an old car had been dumped, the wheels were missing, but he spent hours sitting inside, changing gears, swinging round the steering wheel and dreaming of the day when he could actually drive his own car on the roads.
The only lesson he liked at school was car maintenance. His best mate, Jason shared his love of cars, but Jason had actually driven on the roads. His mum left her car outside the garage on a nearby block, it was easy for him to take the keys and have a drive round, returning the car to its original spot. The boys would creep out of the house at night. They took turns to drive about the local trading estate, which was deserted at night. They were careful to keep to the speed limit, and kept a watchful eye out for the cops. Once Jason had discovered how to hot wire a car, there was no limit to their activities. They sneaked as before but now Jason would break into any car they fancied, charged around the countryside, abandoning the car and picking up another; Jason, a competent car thief, did it more for the thrill of getting away with it. Dean was not too happy; stealing cars was not really his thing. Anyhow, with only one year to go and he'd be legal, he told Jason it was finished. It wasn't worth getting caught now.
Dean found himself a weekend job in charge of the trolleys at the supermarket; he took on two paper rounds. Birthdays and Christmas he asked for money towards the car fund. He saved every penny he could. At last he reached the magic age, 17, he could drive legally. His dad paid for a course of lessons; the instructor was impressed. Dean proved to be a competent learner, partly due to all the illegal driving he'd been indulging in with Jason. He passed the test first time and set about finding a car. With the help of his dad he finally settled on fairly modest Ford.
My first car he thought and my first drive in it on a motorway. It was exhilarating; he put his foot down and watched the speedometer as it touched on 80. Sadly he didn't see the lorry pull over into his lane. He braked . . . Everything went black.
Dean stood up; he couldn't remember anything that had happened. Why was he in the hospital. Where was everyone? He got out of bed - no one was around so he just walked out, and down the road towards home. It seemed to take forever, but finally he reached the house. Something was going on; there was a police car outside. The front door was open, he went into the lounge; his mum and sister were sitting on the settee crying, his dad, white faced, was trying to comfort them. A police lady came it with cups of tea on a tray.
No one noticed him, something serious was going on. He glanced at the local newspaper on the table. The headlines seemed to jump out at him 'Local teenager dies after crash. 17 year old Dean Smith died in hospital two days after his fatal crash on the motorway . . .'