My Best Friend

It was raining the day Mark Turner died. On a dark, rainy summer night, he foolishly got in the passenger side of a 1998 midnight blue Eclipse. His 19 year old cousin Sam, was the driver, and Sam had a little too much to drink that night. At about three in the morning, they were leaving a party that one of Sam's friends threw. They were rushing home, because they already had missed curfew by two hours. Not aware of his surroundings, Sam carelessly got on the wrong side of the road. A speeding pickup was heading right their way. By the time they saw the truck, it was too late. Sam swerved his car to the right. Although they missed hitting the truck by a few inches, the sleet on the road from the rain caused them to go over the rail of a bridge. They were over a 100 feet in the air. Sam died instantly from the
impact of the paved concrete below, but their still was a little hope for Mark. Obviously not enough, because he was pronounced dead at approximately 5:38 that morning.
    Mark and I grew up in one of those small towns were everybody knew everybody. He lived just two houses down from me. Everything we did, we did together. He knew and understood me like no one else did. He was always there for me through thick and thin. He was the only person who I can say was my best friend. Whenever we got into a fight, I could never be mad at him for more than a day. . We were a team, like Batman and Robin, or Star... [to view the full essay now, purchase below]