Estate Sale

"I used to have a shirt just like this," I held up the black and gold garment from Gucci for my friend. Her eyes took it in but her expressionless face revealed nothing. "It made my boobs look so huge! All of the guys used to state at me when I wore it."

"All of the guys stared at you because you don't wear a bra!" Chelsea exclaimed, her tone exasperated but her face as always was impassive. "Why are we here? You don't need any of this junk, it's a waste of time."

"Why are we friends?" It was something I asked myself many times over the years. Chelsea and I were as different as peanut butter and bananas, but somehow like that combination, we worked. "You aren't any fun and I'm the bees knees."

"I know, I know. But this doesn't change anything." Instead of responding I moved to another table and looked around it. There were some knick knacks that were cute but I dared not say anything to cranky pants. "It just seems foolish to me to keep adding junk to an enormous pile. We were already given things to remember her."

What? I turned to Chelsea to find out what she was talking about, only to find that another of our friends had joined us. Heather's face was scratched up and her arm was in a cast. I'd get the story on that later. Probably a skiing accident or something.

Another rack of clothes caught my attention, so I walked over to it. A very cute, red dress caught my attention. It was very short, it stopped right above my thigh I guessed. There was something very familiar about it to me. I must have owned one like it.
There was another dress behind it that looked like one I owned as well. Whoever this estate sale was for had fabulous taste in clothes, even if it was a little freaky that she had the same style as I did. "Hey guys, did you see this?"

I spun around to find Heather crying and Chelsea rolling her eyes. Leave it to Heather to steal the focus from me. Whenever I had something important to say like the fact that me and this lady who passed away had the same fashion sense, Heather had to one up me.

"Why did God have to take her? It should have been me!" Heather sobbed, yelled. People were starting to turn and stare at them.

"I was in that car too, why did Cara die and not me?"

Drama queen! Was the first thought that popped into my mind and then I wondered why she was saying that I died. Rolling my eyes I spun around and started to put distance between us. I did not want to associated with that scene.
Then it happened. I saw the big cardboard sign with my picture on it. It read that I was born April 18, 1990 and died May 20, 2014. What the hell? How did I die?

As if asking those questions somehow unchained the answers, the memory of my final minutes floated into my head. Heather and Chelsea had just graduated college and wanted to celebrate. I had volunteered to be the DD, designated driver that evening so they could have fun.

Heather was going to stay the night with me, so we dropped Chelsea off and were heading to my place. At a red light we turned the latest Beyonce song up, and were dancing to it. The light turned green so I took my foot off the brake and hit the gas. Two seconds later there was the sound of metal crunching metal.

My small car was pushed at least half a mile, then it flipped. Not one or twice but at least three times. I was thrown from the car. My head hit the cement and darkness surrounded me.

As I came out of the memory, I looked at the picture of me smiling again. There were words underneath the dates of my birth and death. All proceeds to be donated to M.A.D.D. The driver who hit me must have been drunk.
It was sad that I would never wear that Gucci blouse again or the red dress. It was sadder that I was at my own Estate Sale.