The Unknown Mystery

Dear Mom,

Do you remember that time you told me your car had been scratched up? You said it was a “hit and run”. You were right but I’m the one that hit and ran. Before I continue, if it makes you feel any better, I promise I didn’t keep you alone in the dark, I left everyone there, I think even myself for a little while.

It happened years ago. I remember being so upset, probably something to do with boys and puberty hormones and all I wanted to do was leave the house. All my movements were powered by anger, jerky, loud, and fast. I yanked my shoes on, grabbed my keys, and slammed the door. I ran to my car, my breath rapid, put the key in the ignition and hit the gas as fast as I could. I didn’t even realize how close your car was until I hit it. Yes, that car, sorry not THAT car, THE car. Your shiny, unscathed, very new, red convertible camaro. Your pride and joy. There was 10 seconds after the contact that I was completely frozen. I knew you guys were in bed sleeping - it was at least 10 pm which was way past your bedtime on a weekday - but the statue in the driver's seat refused to budge. Then doing the most mature thing I could think of at the moment I drove away. I remember how my heart pounded in my chest and the constant turn of my head to see if I was being followed. I pulled into the hockey rink parking lot and stared at nothing. Honestly I think I blacked out from stress, though my anger was totally forgotten.

I have no memory of getting home, but I obviously did because the next morning I stood in the kitchen as you told me what happened. That's when I realized I didn't even look at the damage I most definitely caused before I drove away. The unknown damage that would put a big fat G for guilty on my forehead if it was on my car. My stomach was lodged in my throat leaving me utterly speechless. Now I know, you know I’m a horrible liar because I get it from you - our faces say all the things our words fail to - so I truly don't know how you didn't see that it was me. By some miracle my reaction must've appeared as horrified for what happened to your beautiful car, instead of horrified that I did that to your beautiful car.

It felt like I was in one of those murder mysteries. Que suspenseful music. There was a murder on 2nd street. The unknown killer has avoided police detection and is on the loose. So obviously each family member sets out to uncover the murder mystery. Only everyone looked on the outside. Was it the dog sitter? The amazon delivery man? Uber eats? No, no, no, in reality it was your very own daughter, observing in the corner as everyone remained clueless. Que timed gasps.

But in the end you didn’t think there was a mystery to uncover, you accepted that it was some random driver and that you'd never find the culprit and then life just went on. Your baby was restored to full beauty, you drove it, the end. Now I know you thought the case was closed but I am here to tell you that, several years later, through honesty and this letter you can now finally say - MYSTERY SOLVED!

Que puppy dog eyes,

Love your very, very, very sorry daughter