I fought back the urge to turn around and walk away as I stepped up to the boy's front door. This was partially my doing; I had to make amends. Or, at least, look him in the eye after what had happened. I rang the door bell and, soon, a woman came to answer. His mother, I assumed.
"Oh," she said. "Hello. Are you a friend of Darryl's?"
"Not exactly," I said nervously. "I was....in the car." My voice failed to explain any further, but what detail I had provided proved enough. Her face darkened, but not in an angry way, and I kept my expression dead serious. That was no difficult feat - there was no reason not to be serious. I had been involved in a car accident that had caused severe injury to a pedestrian.
"Oh," she said, slightly more somberly. "Come in."
When I entered, I saw that bookworm girl from school sitting in an armchair, the boy in a wheelchair with casts on his legs.
"Darryl?" I said as I entered, assuming that was his name from his mother's question earlier. He lloked up at me, as if I were some strange animal he'd never seen before - probably a natural response to my knowing his name. "Bookworm." I sat in another armchair across the room from the girl, with the boy forming a sort of triangle with us.
"Why are you here?" The girl asked, looking curious.
"Why indeed?" Chimed in Darryl. "And how do you know my name, when I most certainly do not know you?"
"I, uh -" I stopped, suddenly feeling very nervous. "I was in the car that hit you. I'm terribly sorry for what happened. As for my knowing your name, your mother asked if I was a friend of Darryl's, and I assumed you were him."
"You assumed correctly."
The situation felt more awkward all of a sudden; not more awkward, really, but the awkwardness seemed more intense for some reason.
"So..." I began, feeling for something to say to break the silence, "Umm, what brought you here?" I asked of the girl.
"I got someone to call an ambulance after you hit Darryl," she said, and then, as if she were ashamed, "And he was watching me, and not the road."
"Well, you shouldn't draw so much attention," I said, half-joking. For some reason, the same powerful hateful feeling i had experienced for her before was burning strong once again.
"Hey, it's not her fault!" Said Darryl. "You weren't watching the road."
"I wasn't driving," I said, feeling that same inexplicable anger rising in me towards him. "It was my father."
"Then why wasn't your father watching the road?"
"I don't know..." I said, feeling suddenly ashamed for needling them - especially darryl, as we were guests in his home.
Why? Why did i have this strange anger, this hateful drive in me to exact some sort of revenge upon them? Only, that made no sense. They'd never wronged me, so there was no revenge to be had. What was wrong with me?