Unforgotten

Revisiting a popular urban legend

 

 

Y

ou thought I had forgotten your sweater, didn’t you? That maybe I had just thrown it over the back seat to collect dust until we went out again. I still consider it a stroke of luck us meeting the way we did, you standing by the roadside in your prom dress, me just driving home from being stood up on a date. I have never been one to believe in divine providence before, but it just seems like it was one of those “meant to be” moments.

   When I pulled over and asked you if you needed a lift, I didn’t really think you’d say yes. I figured the way you were dressed you were waiting for your tuxedoed boyfriend to show up. I don’t know why it didn’t click then that you were wearing a prom dress in the middle of October.

   I asked you where you lived and you gave me directions that took us down backcountry roads. It was a nice drive, and we made small conversation along the way. Maybe if we had known each other previously we would have had more to talk about, but as it was I was just content to hear your name. “Elisabeth,” you told me, as you took off the thin sweater you were wearing, the kind girls sometimes just draped over their shoulders when their strapless dresses left them a little too exposed to the night air.

  I took it from you and casually set it over in the back seat. “I won’t forget it,” I promised.

  I asked you if you were going somewhere, dressed up as you were, and you smiled at me. “Yes, I went to the prom.”

   “Which prom?”

   “Central high.”

   I nodded. Having just moved here I wasn’t overall familiar with local schools, so I took you at your word. There was no need for me to doubt you, especially when we passed your friends at the roadside.

   They were just standing there, just like you had been, as if they were waiting for a ride themselves. A boy and a girl they were holding hands. The boy look drenched, as if he’d just taken a bath with his clothes on. The girl was dressed a lot like you, in her prom dress. Hers was black though, and the white corsage she wore wasn’t affixed properly.

   I asked if you knew them and you told me you did.

   “Do you want me to stop and pick them up?”

   She reached over and touched my hand. “I just want to go home”, you said. You curled your fingers around my hand, and your touch sent shivers up my shine. I couldn’t believe my lucky stars. I was riding with a beautiful girl and she was holding my hand. How much better could it get?

   As we drove along I tried to think of things to say, points of conversation that would interest you. After all, I had just met you, how would I know things you liked or didn’t like. So I turned on the car stereo. One of my favorite CDs was loaded and soon it was blaring from the speakers. Rob Zombie. I could tell you didn’t like it much. Maybe I had it turned it up too loud, so I turned it down a bit, the song ‘Living Dead Girl’ fading quietly in the background.

   “I guess you don’t like Metal much,” I said, seeing the distasteful look upon your face.

   “I like David Cassidy,” you replied, and then began to hum a few bars of ‘I Think I Love You’.

   I didn’t know whether to laugh or confess my mom liked him too. I guess music was going to be one of those things we didn’t have in common. Finally I just turned it off and let the hum of the engine be the only sound.

   Still you hummed your song though, and I felt your hand grip mine tighter. I looked over at you, and your other hand had gripped the passenger door handle as if you were either going to jump out or were trying to keep something from getting in.

   “Are you okay? I asked.

   “Watch out!” you screamed, and I turned my attention back to the road. We were coming up on a covered bridge, its entrance looking like a dark gaping mouth. But it wasn’t the entrance that had caused your scream. It was the fact we were going to miss the bridge entirely. Somehow in diverting my attention to you I had managed to swerve off the dirt road and we were going to go over an embankment and into the river below.

   I slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel. We skidded and slid into the bridge with a crash. My rear fender had spun around and hit one side of the bridge. The collision with the bridge kept the car from going completely off the road. Unfortunately the rear of the car had smashed through the covered bridge wall and was now perched in the open air over the river. We were precariously balanced on bridge and air.

   I told you to very slowly get out of the car. You opened up the car door and very carefully got out. Your eyes shifted to the back seat, where your sweater lay.

   “Don’t worry, I got it,” I said, and reaching over the seat I tried to get it. It was just out of my reach though. I stretched my arm further in an effort to get to it but still had no luck. Finally I turned in my seat and was able to get my fingers on the sweater. That’s when I felt the car start to go over.

   My weight shifting towards the rear of the car had sent it over. I heard your scream and saw you reach for me, as the car and I plunged into the river below.

 

  I didn’t mean to scare you, Elisabeth. I really didn’t. I know it has been awhile, but it took me forever to find which house you lived in. I didn’t realize how long I had been in the water, and when I finally crawled up on the riverbank, you were gone.

  So I walked down the road looking for your house. I knew it had to be close by. Your earlier directions had told me it was just beyond that covered bridge. I did go to other houses first, asking if you lived there, but most everyone closed their door in my face, or in the case of one old lady never opened it at all.

   Finally I knocked on the right door, and to my surprise you opened it. You were no longer dressed in your prom dress. You were instead wearing slacks and a summer top. And you looked different in the face. Gone were the girlish features of innocence. Instead I could see lines on your face. Lines caused by age, and I remarked to myself how much older you looked.

   I held your sweater out to you. “See, I didn’t forget,” I said.

   But you didn’t take the sweater from my hands. Instead you wiped the tear back from your face. And whispered something to me I will never forget…”But you’re dead.”

   It was then I realized. I had died in the car. Down in the depths of that river I had breathed my last. But I never forgot your face. Never forgot the touch of your hand in mine. Never forgot to get your sweater back to you…

Reviews

[Brandon Meyers]

Nice write. I think this story was well told and nicely paced. Good stuff!

[Shawna Johnson]

Nice twist. I enjoyed this little tale.

[Toni Bennett]

I knew what the ending to this story would be considering we've all heard this legend... but you still told it wonderfully and kept me on my toes.

[C Lee]

My pulse was racing as I read this...guess u got my heartrate up too today - I love the descriptions and it totally sucked me in...as silly as it sounds, i love u used and "s" instead of a "z". great piece.

[Magnolia Belle]

This is an interesting twist on an urban legend. The girl by the road in a prom dress ... the sweater... the young man driving by... all of it.

While this is well written, I have to confess, though, that I like your original plots more betterer.