An Inspirational Rite Of Passage

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In the prime age of sixteen, I felt an inspirational rite of passage. My endurance through Drivers Ed guaranteed me my license which I wanted desperately. Furthermore, my father had permitted me to drive his white 2002 Dodge Ram truck; and after eleven years of its existence, its appearance was still flawless and shattered anything in its way. While driving it, I felt invincible, so invincible I could jump over any hurtle, obstacle, you name it. I intentionally found reasons to drive it like: going to the store, the bank, visiting family members, and of course hanging out with my friends. In the early spring of 2013, I was returning home from eating lunch with my hilarious friend, Wade, at Rupes, the best burger joint in town. My foot all the way on the gas petal, my left hand out the window, and my eyes on the road was my last good memory before it happened. At the speed of 45 between the intersecting of Rich Lane and University Street, my eyes were flashed by the bursting sunlight from my rearview mirror. My depth perception was rattled by my tainted eyes, and I could not readjust them back in order before blinking. After a brief moment, I finally attuned my eyes and I gathered that I drifted closer to the right side of the road. Likewise out of the corner of my right eye, I notice a strange object fifteen feet headed to the right of the truck. I focused more upon the black object before it disappeared out of my sight and departed underneath the hood of the truck. It was
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