Wednesday, April 30, 2014
The Who: Twin sisters Dharma and Karma Watson
The What: An irreversible tragedy
The When: January 1, 2014, 3:05 AM
The Where: Long Island, New York
The Why: Alcohol
The How: Alcohol
Dharma and Karma Watson were born seven minutes apart. Identical twins, the two girls not only looked the same–they dressed the same, sharing the same hobbies and interests, and acted the same. Well, they usually acted alike.
But Dharma did not share her sister’s sexual proclivity. Dharma was still a virgin, even orally. A fact her sister fought valiantly to change.
She couldn’t see that Dharma was content with things as they were. She wasn’t a prude who saw all the girls giving themselves up as whores. She just didn’t see the point in giving herself away for nothing. As corny and old-fashioned as it sounded, she wanted her first time to be meaningful. She wanted the person with her to feel what she felt. Love.
When New Year’s Eve 2013 came around, Karma was up to her old tricks again. She purposely wore the skimpiest black dress she could find with fishnets, knowing that Dharma would feel compelled to keep up their tradition of dressing in the same fashion. And seeing as how it was her turn to choose where they spent the night, she picked the rowdiest club on Long Island.
Karma spent the night shamelessly flirting with every man that turned to putty in her hands. While Dharma spent the evening spurning the advances of every drunken slob that approached her with a horrid pickup line.
“Hey baby, what’s your sign?” one guy asked.
“Do not enter,” she responded.
“Is this seat taken?” one guy asked, motioning to the empty stool next to her.
“Yes, my invisible dyke girlfriend is sitting there.”
“Hey girl,” another guy said. “You’re looking lonely. You wanna dance?”
“You wanna fuck off?” she asked in response.
At least nobody tried, “Nice shoes, wanna fuck?” She would’ve had to dish out a black eye for that infraction.
When the ball dropped at twelve, Karma was making out on the dance floor with a guy she had known for all of ten minutes. And Dharma was still seated at the bar, downing her eighth Screwdriver while watching her sister make a fool of herself.
They left the club sometime after midnight, the guy from the dance floor following them to Karma’s red Corvette convertible.
“Where are you going?” the guy asked as Dharma fished through Karma’s purse for her keys. Karma was in no condition to drive. Fifteen different men had treated her to drinks and shots, and she hadn’t turned a single one down.
“We’re going home,” Dharma told him.
“But the party’s not over yet,” he insisted. He had short hair and a beard and he was cute to Dharma, looked kind of like Jake Gyllenhaal. But she was in mood for desperation from a guy looking to score with her flesh and blood.
“It is for us,” she said vehemently.
She helped a stumbling Karma climb into the passenger seat, but neglected to buckle her in. She brushed past the Gyllenhaal lookalike, got in the driver seat, and started it up.
She saw the guy hovering around behind the car and put it in reverse, her foot still on the brake. But she wanted him to see the brake lights so he knew she meant business.
He took the hint and jumped out of the way as she floored it in reverse and sped out of the parking lot.
Dharma saw a sign for the east entrance ramp of Ocean Parkway, and got on heading west. New Year’s Eve had spilled over into New Year’s Day, and the party was still going. Karma dug into her purse and removed a silver flask, unscrewing the cap.
“What’s that?” Dharma asked, her vision was fuzzy but she could still make out the empty road ahead of her.
“Oh, this,” Karma said, slurring her words. “This was what I used to pregame for tonight. I filled it up before we left the house. It’s Vodka.” She took a swig. “You want some?”
“What the hell?” Dharma shrugged as she accepted the flask. “You only live once.” She took a gulp of straight Vodka and it burned the back of her throat. She exhaled deeply and passed the flask back to Karma.
As they reached an overpass, Dharma could see blurry lights in the distance. Headlights of a black Escalade traveling at eighty miles per hour.
Her eyes drifted to the speed gauge and saw that they were traveling at seventy miles per hour. Her motor skills impaired, she was too slow to react. There was little time to swerve or clear out of the way. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the inevitable.
Both vehicles collided in the center lane. Karma was ejected from the Corvette, her body discovered forty feet from the crash site. Dharma suffered internal injuries and died almost instantly. The driver of the Escalade was a lone man in his late-thirties, who also died in the accident. And like Dharma, he was also found to be driving under the influence.
It was a highway patrolman who came across the wreckage at 3:05 AM. The patrolman called into dispatch and reported the accident, citing a ghost driver as the cause. The dispatcher was unfamiliar with the term and asked foolishly for the patrolman to elaborate.
The patrolman explained that a ghost driver is a term for someone who drives on the wrong side of the road.
Karma and Dharma Watson were twenty-one years old, and one year away from college graduation. Karma was going to practice law, and Dharma was going to be a veterinarian. And as they were born together, now they would be buried side-by-side together, always to be remembered for a senseless tragedy that could’ve been avoided.