I didn’t want it to turn out this way. I didn’t want them to know of my most intimate smell. It happened so suddenly and I wasn’t thinking so I let it out. But I knew almost immediately after it happened that I could have stopped it, that if I clenched hard enough… No. It’s best not to think about “what if’s” and “if only’s”. Not now, especially not now after what happened. But before it all went down (or it all came out rather) we were all laughing and having a good time, sharing jokes, partaking in the creation of good memories. I remember thinking about that piece of bread I left in the toaster back home, wondering if my mom would eat it herself or set it aside for no one in particular. I was in the midst of arriving at my conclusion when suddenly it happened. An eruption. I expelled the most noxious gas I’ve ever smelt, a rancid odor far beyond my imagination. And the sound… Oh that sickening sound. Almost like a dying banshee, moaning towards the waning moon, my flatulence sounded more like a ghostly wail than any sort of natural bodily emission. There were 6 of us cramped in that minivan, all moments before excited about the Halloween party we all hoped to attend, now overcome with the most terrible sensation we have ever experienced: The Smell of my Shame.
Our designated driver, costumed as Obama and sporting “half-black-face” (and only half racist according to him) immediately opened his mouth to laugh at the expense of whomever let out that fragrant waft. That was the biggest he has ever made in his life. The moment he opened his mouth and sucked in air to let out a hearty guffaw, he inhaled the full brunt of my airborne assault. He took in all of my shame and was forever tainted by it. His eyes watering, his vision blurred, bile beginning to rise from his stomach, his throat choked with the painful decision to either breathe and endure the foul smell, or choke whilst driving the car hanging in his mind. Reflexively, whilst hearing the strangled gasps of everyone around him and cursing the coldness outside that led them to have all the windows shut, he pulled his hands from the steering wheel to wipe his eyes and grasp his throat. It was in that moment that our fates were sealed.
The instant his vision was cleared, his stomach plummeted as it became immediately apparent that this was not the ideal time to remove his hands from the steering wheel. Jerking the wheel sharply to the left in a panic, he overshot a great deal and charged through a rotted wooden fence and into a grassy field and past a series of bushes. His oxygen deprived brain unable to process all that was ahead of him, he failed to notice the tree before it was too late.
The sensation of crashing was unlike anything any of us could have possibly anticipated. It was as if we were falling in place, being violently gripped by gravity and then dropped in disgust when it had its fill. The poor soul next to me dressed as Sebastian from the Little Mermaid was violently tossed against the seat in front of him, head colliding hard against the plastic surface, and with that a sickening snapping sound was heard. He will never walk again. Those in front, our presidential driver and his First Lady (girlfriend) dressed as albino Michelle Obama were greeted with dozens of shards of glass spraying across their faces. It seems God answered his constant complaints in regards to being the designated driver as a shard entered through his left eye and permanently disabled both his sense of sight and smell. While it is tragic that the last thing he will ever smell is my gaseous release, the fate of his girlfriend (left with a permanently scarred and disfigured) and the couple cramped in the small quarters of the backseats (lovingly dressed as Gandalf and Girl-Dumbledore who were rendered comatose by the crash) did not fall far behind.
The only one left unscathed is me. The only one who knows who is responsible, is the one that will take this terrible secret to the grave. I am the one who both smelt and dealt it, I did the rhyme and the crime, and I both denied and supplied it. Our small group of friends disbanded after that night, never openly acknowledging the blast of air that undid our fates. I walked away however, with a conscience heavy with guilt, and covered in a foul odor. In the lives of my former friends, dressed in an ill-fitting Batman costume, I disappear like a fart in the wind.