My life is stuck on repeat of one day. The one day I can’t take back. The one day I can’t change.
And the memory is with me all the time.
It was the middle of December and the temperature had dropped. We’d just had a huge dump of snow. The kind of snow cities like Edmonton, Toronto, and New York get. The kind of snow that cripples a city. In Vancouver it was even worse because we weren’t used to snow.
That morning, I woke up to notifications blowing up my phone. Dad was in the car, texting me that he was driving his latest girlfriend to work. That meant I had to get to school on my own. His next texts said I needed to walk my dog, Gemini, do the dishes, and shovel the sidewalk, all before leaving the house. Like that was going to happen! Instead, I hit the snooze button and curled up under the covers to get warm.
Then I ended up being so late I didn’t have time to walk Gemini. I didn’t have time to do any of the things Dad had asked me to do. Instead, I showered, wolfed down my breakfast, and ran out the door. Halfway down the block I was sorry I hadn’t grabbed my scarf. Tiny shards of ice pricked my skin.
I remember glancing at my phone and seeing that the first bell was going to ring in ten minutes. If I got another late slip, they’d call home. Last thing I needed was more attitude from my dad, even if it was his fault. I passed this old car that was idling to warm up the engine, and got a great idea. I’d get to school faster if I took it. Who cares that I wasn’t legally allowed to drive at fifteen?
The car door was unlocked. My dad had ditched me, and this seemed like fate. So I jumped in. My heart was pounding, like Bachi sticks banging against my Taiko drum. Adrenaline seemed to funnel right down to my foot. Before I knew what was happening, I had pressed the gas pedal to the floor, turned the steering wheel hard, and pulled out into the street. Normally the tires would have screeched, but the bank of snow made it hard to peel out. So the only sound in the deep silence of Vancouver was the running engine and the crunch of tires on snow.
And my racing heartbeat.
The car tires slid into the ruts in the snow formed by vehicles that had left earlier in the morning. I didn’t push the car too hard because I didn’t want to spin out. I had loads of time to change my mind. I could get out of the car and leave it at the nearest curb.
But I didn’t.
Instead I drove toward my high school, wishing I had my own wheels. If I did, I could surprise this girl I liked. With my own car, maybe I’d be cool enough that Tanika would go out with me. With my own car, maybe I’d be brave enough to ask her out. I’d pick her up and she’d settle in close. Then we’d ditch school for the day and hang out.
But I was pulled from my daydream as the car slipped in the snow. And my heart stopped when I scanned the mirrors and spotted the cop car behind me.
I don’t know why, but I was sure he knew I had taken the car for a joy ride. Panic pressed my foot onto the gas pedal. Ahead was a street that led away from the main road. I thought I could lose the police car. But as I turned the steering wheel and revved the gas, I hit a sheet of black ice. The car slid sideways.
I wrenched the steering wheel and pounded the brakes. The old car didn’t have anti-lock brakes. I felt a burn through my arms. Nothing I did worked to control the vehicle. I was sliding straight toward a telephone pole.
And between me and the pole was a guy in a green jacket.
I closed my eyes. There was a popping crunch as the car hit the pole.
Someone screamed.
A buzz rang through my ears. I sat stunned like a bird that’s flown into a window. Every part of me was vibrating. It took a few moments for me to figure out what had happened. But those moments felt like hours.
I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket. In front of the headlights was a red scarf on the white snow.
Right.
There had been a man.
My breakfast heaved out onto the car seat. I couldn’t find the courage to get out of the car to check on the guy on the sidewalk. His dangling red scarf billowed in the wind.
When I finally opened the door, people had gathered on the street. One person had hurried to the front of the car and bent down between the telephone pole and the car. Others stared at me with accusing glares.
I took a deep breath because I felt like I might pass out. The air chilled right down to my lungs. I inched toward the front of the car but was jostled sideways as someone knocked into me. He yelled for me to call 911. I pulled out my cell phone, but my hands were shaking and the phone dropped into the snow and disappeared. It felt like the temperature had dropped too — like, twenty degrees. I was shaking so hard I had to reach out for the hood of the car to keep my balance.
Sirens wailed. The snow by the front tire was dripping with crimson. I steadied myself as a second wave of nausea hit.
“Get out of the way,” hollered another stranger. The ambulance staff knocked into me as they rushed by and I fell into the embankment. As my head lolled to the side, I remember looking directly at the man I had hit.
Then everything went black.
Just the way it does every time I remember that morning.
I don’t dream when I sleep. It’s when I open my eyes that the nightmare begins. It’s been two and half years since the day I jumped in that car and took off for school. But every day since then has been the same.
I wake up in a pool of sweat. My shirt is plastered to my back. My heart races and my whole body shakes. Everything that happened that day is in front of my eyes. The smashed car, the red scarf blowing in the wind, the eyes staring at me as I lie in the snow.