"Kayla, I understand. I do. But please remember I lost someone, too. It wasn't my husband, but I did lose a child."
"I'm sorry, Marie. I didn't mean to come across that way. It's just that I...I really can't see myself...kissing people. Or kissing anyone for that matter. Not even for MADD."
"I'm not going to pressure you. I'll just remind you of what you already know. Fundraisers let us increase awareness, but we can't raise funds if we don't have ways to get people to donate money. And while a kissing booth isn't exactly..."
"It's disgusting," Kayla told her friend and fellow member of Mothers Against Drunk Driving.
Kayla McKinley joined the organization six months after a drunk driver took the life of her husband and their unborn child. She was only four months pregnant, but she and her husband had already picked out names and never thought of it as just a fetus. It was their baby, and they were going to learn the sex of their child in a few more days. Early on, both of the felt confident they didn't want to know, but as time went by curiosity got the best of them, and knowing became preferable to guessing.
When she woke up in the hospital several hours after the crash, the only thing she remembered from the accident was a bright light and her husband yelling something just before the moment of impact. She had no idea what he said, but she did, however, remember his right arm moving and his hand covering her stomach in a vain, last-second attempt to save their baby's life.
But the force of the crash caused her to hemorrhage, and while she was unconscious, the baby boy she would never know was swept from her body and her life along with the only man she'd ever loved.
For the first month grief consumed her. Kayla was so overwhelmed by it that she often wanted to die, too. And while she continued to grieve for several more months, she slowly moved from feelings of hopelessness and helplessness to anger. As the anger raged inside of her she remembered hearing how that particular emotion was a part of the grieving and recovery process. But for Kayla, it was more than that. It was a driving force in her life and became the only way she knew how to avoid feeling helpless or that life was no longer worth living.
She knew there was an organization called Mothers Against Drunk Driving, but she didn't know whether or not there was a local chapter in her home city of Omaha, Nebraska. But after a particularly bad day when her rage seethed to the point that she worried she might do something terrible, she saw a billboard on her way to work the following morning. She'd taken a different route because of road construction, and was sitting at a red light just waiting for it to turn green when she noticed it—a sign that seemed to be...a sign.
"Lost a loved one to a drunk driver? Get MADD."
Below the caption were some grim statistics.
300,000 incidents a day
10,265 deaths a year
290,000 injuries per year
The toll-free number and the website were just below the message, and she made a mental note to check into it as soon as she got home. That evening she went online and started reading testimonials of MADD members who'd experienced what she had, and in many cases, worse.
She cried when she read the one that pushed over the edge involving a female Air Force lieutenant colonel from nearby Offutt Air Force Base who was driving the speed limit on the interstate when a drunk driver struck her from behind doing well over 100mph.
At first, their stories fueled her anger. But as she continued reading, especially that one story, Kayla found herself crying uncontrollably. And after crying until she couldn't cry anymore, she found strength; strength hidden deep inside of her. A strength that moved her to action.
She signed up online to join even though she wasn't quite sure what that meant. She did know she'd receive a monthly newsletter, but that was available online and not actually 'received'. She would also have online access to other members with whom she could share her own story. But after just two weeks of being a silent member, she sought out the nearest chapter that held meetings and told herself she would be at every group function for as long as she felt it was helping.
That had been nearly 18 months ago, and she was now an outspoken member of the group. But being outspoken didn't mean rude or an in-your-face kind of activist. She'd slowly learned to put her anger aside and focused instead on public speaking and encouraging people to never drink and drive.
On the surface, that seemed to run counter to her Libertarian political beliefs, and yet Libertarians were for individual freedoms up and until someone's freedom impacted someone else's right to live free of harm—as in the case of drinking alcohol and getting behind the wheel while impaired.
Drink all you like as long as you know the risks. Just do so responsibly. And never, ever get behind the wheel after you drink. Do that and we have no problem.
Besides, Kayla wasn't the fire and brimstone type. She was kind, thoughtful, and very open about her own loss. And it didn't hurt that Kayla McKinley, even at 36, was still dazzlingly attractive.
As far as that went, Kayla took her looks in stride. But if they helped get or keep the attention of a 16-year old boy who'd just started driving while she spoke at his high school, she was happy to use them to her advantage. She believed that a smile directed at a youthful admirer was preferable to trying to guilt someone into being responsible. For her, it the was the epitome of the old saw about vinegar vs honey.
Her late husband, Steven McKinley, had made her feel beautiful, as well as so many other things, and he often told her how lucky he was to have as his wife. They'd married when she was 28, and after five years together they were both ready to start a family. It didn't take long for Kayla to conceive, and she and her husband were beyond thrilled to know they were going to have a baby. Everything in their lives was coming together and seemed perfect until that fateful night.
But all that was in her past. Her life now was work, taking care of herself through diet and exercise, and representing MADD any time she could. She had no idea whether or not her volunteer efforts had saved even one life, but if they had, it was worth far more than a few hours of her time. And for her personally, it was a godsend in that it had allowed her let go of the anger and channel her energy into something productive.
"Kayla, you know I'm willing to do almost anything to raise money for the cause. We all have our gifts. Mine is writing, and I use it to the best of my ability, especially in our local newsletter. Your gift is public speaking and let's be honest, you're beautiful. So you have to know that with the way you look, we could bring in tons of money for our local chapter. I mean, if I looked like you, I'd set a goal of making a thousand dollars all by myself at the booth."
Kayla laughed at that, and laughing wasn't something she did a lot of, even now. But that made her chuckle and the chuckling made her feel good.
"Let's see. At $5 a kiss, that would be..."
She wasn't actually doing the math, but she pretended to be counting on her fingers then said, "A LOT of kisses."
"Hey, I'd give a little tongue for ten bucks a pop," Marie said, causing them both to laugh a little more.
"Okay, okay. I'm in. Heaven knows you're right. But kissing strange men? It...it kind of gives me the willies."
"Cmon. You just close your eyes, pucker up but keep your lips closed, make contact, and collect the five dollars. Easy peasy."
"Easy peasy. Right," Kayla said with a little shake of her head.
"Okay, if that doesn't work try imagining your favorite actor or athlete."
Kayla lowered her head a bit and looked at Marie who said, "I'm just trying to help."
Kayla sighed then agreed she'd be in the kissing booth that weekend.
"Yay! We are going to make SO much money!" Marie said, happy to know she'd have a good friend there with her for support, and Marie Schultz had turned out to be the best friend she'd had since high school.
