| Road Kill Bingo: A Narrative Essay, by Hillary Nadeau Freshman Comp Wed. Nites 9/22 |
| I Participate in a strange and unusual sport. Most people who hear about what I enjoy doing in my free time are shocked and appalled beyond belief, often vowing never to speak to me again as long as they live. They wonder how such a smart, pretty little person, such as I, who comes from a well off, distant but supportive family could have ever gottenmixed up with such a revolting hobby. How in this day and age is it possible to continue having sports like this, where the object of the game, to some, is no less continuous homicide to innocent pedestrians happening along the street? I can assure you, my love for this sport has nothing to do with my upbringing. It had nothing to do with the fact that my father works twelve hours a day on the third shift and I never see him. It has nothing to do with the fact I'm an only child. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that my mother carries rosary beads everywhere she goes and keeps a mini bible in her jeans pockets at all times along with every church program we've received over the past year shoved in her purse. No, this is not a rebellious streak- this is my life. I just sit back and wonder passively, where would my life be without the awesome spectacle sport that is Road Kill Bingo? Where would My Father, my best friend, Andrew Todd, and I be without the one game that brought us all together? At first, it started out as a secret obsession. My weeks would constantly start and finish the same way with a routine redundancy that would drive any person insane. My mother would turn on a record of the North Field Mount Herman School Gospel Choir LP and have it playing at the ungodly hour of five in the morning. She'd hum along to the songs and knock on my door to get up. You see, I'm home schooled and anybody who's ever been home schooled by a sane family will tell you one good thing about it is you get to sleep a little later. That was not the case with my family. My mother woke Me up at five in the morning every morning and sat me down in the den, which she had converted into something that looked like a rickety jail cell complete with religious fanatic decor. She'd deadbolt the door after lecturing me for 2 hours on the virtues of getting a good breakfast and leave me in there to complete a good four hours of homework. All that wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have to hear that rotten music and her singing along so cheerily too it, completely unaware that I thought she was the fruitiest tart you ever did see. A lot of people who are good but do bad things do it out of boredom. For lack of something more ethical or respectable to do, there is always something fun that people look down their noses at you for doing. For me, my routine days all usually ended when my mother, the devout unholy- Christian woman finally let me out of our two bedroom farmhouse with no air-conditioning, I'd bolt out the door to go shoot pool with my best friend since we were eight months old, Andrew Todd. Only this particular night, I didn't really feel like playing pool. I had something I wanted to try out. Something absolutely un-Christian like, Something sick and twisted and utterly my secret alone. Slowly, I reached my hand into my pocket and gingerly unfolded a slight old and yellowed piece of vintage parchment. It had been sitting in my pockets for at least a month, going everywhere I went, flirting with me, asking me to play. It gradually kept changing pockets as I changed clothes- but this is the first time I ever got to read it. The Parchment was a vintage piece of a novelty games from the 1970’s called, "Road Kill Bingo." Only I wasn't willing to Just try this as a novelty, for me this was the real deal and I was going to go out and do some damage. I wanted to be master of the road and splatter everything that happened along it into quivering piles of bile and dirt. You might say I'm sick, but I thought of it as a fantastic challenge. I was so thankful that Andrew Todd had lent me his car so I could meet him to play pool, thought I did feel a little bad I was about to stand him up. I felt so rebellious and commanding as I found a raccoon skittering out of the bushes to my right and quickly, without much thought started the car and shifted into first gear. I followed the rodent slowly at first, afraid I might scare it and it would take off running into the beaver pond that lined the road. I increased speed ever so slightly and watched its beady eyes grow bigger and bigger as I slammed on the gas peddle and plowed right over him. I felt a surge of adrenaline flow through me and amped myself for the next big squash. In a matter of minutes my keen eyes noticed a rather large snake seemingly floating in a mud puddle. Yes, it was definitely a snake, and much to my elated giddiness, he was alive. I swerved just to the right of the road and hit the puddle straight on. Mud spilled everywhere Staining the white exterior of the car to a murky brown mess. I calmly shifted the car into reverse and backed up into the puddle as the car sighed deeper into the mud and then shifted into first gear and resumed going forward over the puddle once again. I realized I had to do that several times to ensure I'd gotten the snake because snakes are relatively flat and can be tricky to run over if they're able to get real low to the ground. I grimaced at the mud soaked car and sighed. Hopefully Andrew Todd wasn't too terribly attached to it since it was barely recognizable.I read the instructions and picked up my playing card, gleefully putting an x over the snake and raccoon slots. For a first time player I wasn't doing to bad. By the time I had to come in for my curfew, it was well past an acceptable time to drop Andrew Todd's car off. I decided, instead of parking it directly in his driveway, I'd park it on the side of the road. Maybe he'd think some drunken goon went by real close to his car and splattered it with mud as he went by. Either way, I really didn't care what Andrew Todd would say- I had had a blast that night and nothing could bring me down. I made a sharp right to park by the street alcove and unexpectedly felt and tentative bump rise up from the car. I had definitely hit something, but I had only been going around fifteen miles an hour so I couldn't be sure if I'd killed it or not. A quick peek under the car insured me I had indeed hit something, and by the way it's body was embedded into the pavement, despite it's outer shell, I'd earned another point on my bingo card. It was truly an amazing night; I turned to cross off turtle on my playing card and couldn't believe it was not there! It made no sense that a turtle was not considered Road Kill Bingo worthy, but then I thought, maybe they're so easy to run over that they didn't count. Another thought that made more sense and gave me the benefit of the doubt was that it was a typo- after all, these were cards from the 1970's and things have changed since then. So I crossed off the armadillo in place of the turtle since I don't think there are any armadillo populating this state. The next few times I played, I noticed a car seeming to follow me. At first I was worried, after all, what might someone do if they saw me running over random animals on purpose? If these were PETA members behind me, I'd get a little more then red paint thrown at me. But I soon realized, not only were these people harmless, they were playing along! I'd hit a bird; they'd hit a dog. I'd hit a squirrel; they'd hit a beaver. I looked on in absolute amazement and adoration- these were my kindred spirits! Eventually we got to talking and I found out there was a whole underground collection of people like me. People who were shunned for the fact they too enjoyed this game and had to play their favorite pastime in the shadowed secrecy of the night. Other people didn't understand us, so we kept to ourselves. Anytime anyone caught us, we were ridiculed and called terrible murderous names and spit at. One time, we had a mole in our game group, who was never very good at the game anyway; state that she was trying to bring us down from the inside. She said we were pointlessly killing animals and a lecherous unruly mob. We said, if playing this game badly is her way of trying to bring us down, she should think of a better plan. After all whatever animals she doesn't hit, we most certainly will. Stranger still, I thought of all people, my father would never understand my secret life. He'd get upset and preach about the Virtues of life and how he didn't risk his life fighting for this country just so we could have to freedom to senselessly mow down defenseless animals. Then he would tell my mother, and she would cry and keep showing me a picture of Jesus healing the sick and the wounded and ask repeatedly, "What would Jesus do?" One day, when I'd foolishly borrowed my parents car to join the Road Kill Bingo team on a moose hunt early one Saturday morning, I left my playing cards and bingo paraphernalia in the backseat of the car and mindlessly went upstairs to take a quick nap before afternoon mass. Much to my horror, when I awoke five hours later, I was informed my father had taken the car to run errands and would be home around six that evening. I could picture myself in a psychiatric ward all tied up in an immaculate white straight jacket playing with my toes while all the other mental patients sang church hymns from my mother's gospel LPS. Or worse yet, I could see myself grounded and forbidden to go to the annual Road Kill Bingo Ball where one of the door prizes was a brand new SUV with chrome plated wheels and steel rims- all the better her rocky all terrain area where all the hardest to find animals were hiding. I was preparing for the worst when I met my dad at the door. Goodbye freedom, goodbye my lovely sport of running over clueless jaywalking animals. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and saw tears in my father's eyes. Not tears of disappointment, not tears of rage- tears of inexcusable joy! He told me he loved road kill bingo and couldn't believe there was finally someone close to him that understood. He told me how his parents had almost disowned him when they saw the catalogs and game pieces. He blew his nose on an already soggy tissue and continued telling me about Grandma and Grandpa making him go to a support group for his unhealthy behavior towards animals which included everyone from sheep rapists to people who made conceptual art out of there pets droppings.. I could see the pain and hurt of suppressing his love of this game for twenty-five years and I wasn't going to let that happen to me. My dad and I had never been very close, we barely knew each other outside of the "daddy-daughter" vestibule, but now we had something that would create a bond between us forever. My father and I united in out unshakable love for this proud American sport decided to compete in the National Road Kill Bingo Championship Finals in Muncie, Indiana. I was incredibly nervous and even more excited about the competition. I had dreamed of this moment and here, in Muncie, I felt it was about to come true. Then I got the shock of my life. I found out rather unexpectedly that my best friend in the world, the boy that I had known for 16 years of my life, Andrew Todd had a secret. He too was a closet Road Kill Bingo player! I was shocked and mortified when I saw his car in the parking lot of the Muncie University Inn where the competitors all were staying for the competition. I started to feel a wave of humiliation and a dire need to panic. I didn't want to be confronted, and I didn't want to have to defend myself from what I'm sure would be some awful accusations, not to mention a lecture about how I should cruise around in his car doing what I do and not go to a carwash afterwards. I especially didn't want to hear his talk about my sick behavior, or how I need help and especially, I didn't want him to threaten to never speak to me again. While I competed and tried to avoid Andrew, I was up against some pretty tough people in my age group’s two door compact division. In particular, two people were very gifted at what they did. A girl, from Hoboken, New Jersey, had better then 20/20 vision and maneuvered her lime green miata perfectly down the drag strip. The other, a boy, was from Westchesterfield, Vermont and had an amazing ability to hit animals to spot animals in the blink of an eye and run them over twice as quickly. I did a mental double take. Westchesterfield is where I'm from, so I certainly wanted to meet this guy from my hometown and chat him up, see if he had any pointers for me. After the four-legged squash off, I finally got my chance to speak with the guy from Westchesterfield. He had won six trophies and was grinning from ear to ear. He was the complete picture of a champion, brave, strong, handsome... My best Friend, Andrew Todd. We both looked at each other for a couple beats. I wanted to rub my eyes in disbelief; I couldn't believe how sexy he looked to me now that he was our National Road kill Bingo Champion for the East Coast Division. He too seemed to look at me in a new light. He brushed my cheek softly with the back of his hand and just stared at me in quiet respect and affection. We both started apologizing for not telling each other about our secret pastime and regretting not being able to practice together. In a world so full of chaos and alternative things you can do with your lives, Road Kill Bingo was both of our callings. We were married eighteen months later outside of Little Neck's Presbyterian Church in Westchesterfield just outside of interstate 89 where we held our reception. We had every guest get behind the wheel and handed them a Road Kill Bingo card. We were no longer ashamed, no longer frightened of what people thought. This is our life and we wanted everyone we loved to be a part of it. No more hiding. No more secrets. Some of my relatives did changes their names and stop payment on our wedding checks- but most have accepted it and a small margin even welcomed it, admitting there were fans of the sport too. Maybe it runs in the family... Maybe not, but I love the fact I don't have to hide anymore now that I've found people that are just like me. My mother often rolls her eyes when my husband, my father, and I taking about strategy, saying she fears we'll all burn in hell for our sins... But she still comes to our meets every month and roots us on, following us around in her red minivan and desperately trying to avoid all types of inhabitants of the animal kingdom. My father says she's a trooper and Road Kill Bingo is in her blood. Just look at her aunt Edna, 86 years old and blind as a bat, but still bulldozes over animals just as well as any perky twenty-three year old can. My father has dreams she'll join him on a doubles team someday. I have my doubts, but maybe there is a Road Kill Bingo Champion in her somewhere just bursting to get out, as there is in me, my first child, Sweeny Todd, future International Road Kill Bingo Champion of the World, who will grow up unafraid and unashamed of her favorite sport- just like her mother now is. |