I am such a....

Thats what I was telling Harith for the greater part of one week. We were sharing a secret that was growing on us, slowly dissolving us in guilt, dissolving me atleast. He had done nothing just been with me. This is how that fateful evening transpired.

It was December one of those rare few months we could spend time like we used to back in school and having exhausted most of the chilling out spots in Chennai (oh sooo many of them) we decided to hit it off to Mayajaal on the outskirts for a picture and probably a game of pool. We had loads of fun and were coming back at around eleven in the night.
I always had this huge fetish for high speed and promptly hit the pedal on the eight lane OMR.
You guessed it I hit something. There was a loud AMMA and instincts made me go faster. It was a good five minutes later, when I could no longer drive with sweat all over me that I stopped looking at an equally sheepish Harith. We couldnt speak.
"What did we just do" was what he managed after a good five minutes later my head was in my arms throbbing. The distant sound of a siren, and we had to think fast. Surrender, the right thing to do the sensible thing to do, but in these situations its just saving your skin I guess.
IT would have been seven the next morning when I finally stopped saying "I am such a ...." Harith consoled me, reasoned that there was the chance nothing might have happened.
Half an hour later we ran to the gate to catch the newspaper, and through the corner of my eye I could see my dad gleaming with pride looking at "the enthusiasm of the youngsters these days".
One accident in Veppery, one in Tambaram both minor none on the OMR. We were probably the most relieved souls in the world.
We slept a sound 8 hrs played cricket and sat counted our blessings went out for Pizzas and retired.
"A 60 year old tailor was run over on the wee hours of last morning here in OMR" screamed the third page". I sat gaping as my dad was ecstatic at seeing my devastation over the Mendis massacre. Patriotism is rare among teenagers.
Harith was back poor thing. We sat discussed the plan of action. We learnt she was admitted in the Chettinad hospital so I had a chance to own up if I wanted to.
Harith told me only this; to trust what my heart told me and he would stand by whatever I did.
I would have owned up if the next day's paper did not feature an obituary of the same teacher giving the details about the funeral the next day.
Trust me you would never want to feel like that. Watching Clint Eastwood shooting five men like sparrows might be cool but being the cause for purging everything someone had and would ever ever have is really horrible.
I was numb with guilt. Couldn't eat the whole day, dad asked me to cheer up, "its just a game son one day mendis one day douglas marillier".
That distinctive male baritone "AMMA" kept ringing in my ear.
He was probably a good man who had a family, had kids. Probably he was proud of his good-for-nothing son too.
I had had enough, that evening I took Harith and went to the address mentioned in the poster.
It was this narrow alley, and it was filled with people, most of them opining the spineless bastard who had killed such a wonderful teacher should rot in hell.
Unanimous hatred, never felt it before never want to again.
Why couldnt he have accidentally been a bad ass gangster? or a goat? Or a pathetic teacher who used to molest students?
The body was too mangled and they had covered him from head to toe.
As the walls shrunk to crush me, as everything started to whirl, and the big mass of my best friend literally holding me became a blur, I yelled "ok I killed him, I killed your dad, your husband , your favorite teacher, your son whatever just bash me to death I killed Rajamani". And I sobbed till I realised I wasnt touched yet.
An old frail looking man, red with sorrow, came up and instead of slapping me, just asked
"did you say you killed Rajamani?"
"Yes am afraid so"
"you killed my wife?"
"you mean your brother?"
"No did you hit my wife and run?"
"Your wife? Rajamani is not a man?"
Harith quickly did damage control, explained the cause of confusion and apologised for interrupting the funeral.
And guess what? I also met the man who was the owner of the "AMMA" he had come for funeral too, he had a bandaid to show for that night and that's all and he couldn't say much to the cry baby except a fake "Its ok my man" with a pat on my back.
When we reached my car, I hugged Harith till I realised some curious onlookers might have thought we were curious.
I sat in the car wiped my face, hit the pedal to celebrate the spirit of life, great relief and the wind on my face was such a beautiful feeling.
Just then there was a loud thud
and I heard "AMMMAA"
Harith am such a....

PS:Although I know you would never do whatever I claimed you did above, Harith loser I still love ya