My name is Samantha Diane Lindsey. It’s December 21, 2017 and today I’m turning 27. Although it’s my birthday, today isnt any different from yesterday. I still have to go to work and earn money to keep on living.

I’m currently working as a cashier at a gas station located in Maple Creek. That’s right across the river from where I live in Grover, Vermont.

Ten long years I’ve been working at that gas station and I haven’t taken a single birthday off. What for? I had no one at home. I wasn’t someone special enough, or should I say popular enough to have a suprise party or even a night out with friends. To be honest, I haven’t had a real friend in years.

My last friend was in the sixth grade. Her name was Jessica. I can’t remember her last name, but she had long auburn hair and pretty green eyes the color of fresh moss. Back then I was told that she had moved across the country, but as I grew older, I found out she was in a car accident and had passed away. Since then, I wish I could remember more about her, but my mind goes blank. 

After Jessica was gone, school was hell. I was bullied daily. It began with me not having a mom, because she died in childbirth. Somehow it was my fault and I believed it back then, but now I'm  older and wiser and know I couldn't have done anything to change the outcome.

When they were done coming up with new ways to hurt me by using my mom, they began to bully me for my ethnicity. You wouldn't be able to tell just by reading my name, but my mother was half asian. So that makes me a fourth. Even though I'm only a fourth, I still got the almond shaped eyes and dark hair. It doesn't help that there aren't any asians around here either so they just assume I'm what a typical asian would look like. 

*eyeroll*

I lived with my dad in Grover since I was born. He was my only friend and we did everything together. But, shortly after graduating high school, he left me too. The cops say he took his own life after jumping off the bridge into the Blackwood river. I don’t believe it. He wasn’t suicidal or depressed. He wouldn’t have left me alone in this world. He knew how much he meant to me and how I needed him. Maybe I'm in denial, because of how much I loved him or maybe its the lack of evidence pointing to him drowning in the water.

They never did find a body, just a few of his belongings that had washed up on the side of the river bank. 

It’s been about 8 years and I still daydream about my dad being here with me as I drink my morning coffee and watch the snow fall from the gray skies. 

It’s only 5:25 a.m., but I need to shovel the snow out of my driveway and warm up my old chevy truck before I can get going. I woudn’t have kept that gas guzzler if it wasn’t for my dad. He’d left it behind along with the house and it was better than walking to work.

Some people wonder how I could keep living in this house after my dad took his life. It might be strange, but it somehow comforts me to be here. There are memories around every corner and in every room. Even the furniture hasnt been replaced. Most of it might be due to my lack of income, but a small part of me just can't imagine tossing any of it out.

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His room is still there, just as he left it 8 years ago. His brown comforter is spread across the bed and perfectly pulled at the corners to give a nice crease. A pile of old laundry tossed on the floor next to the door. His wallet and keys were placed by me on his dresser after the police gave them back to me. I havent touched them since and the dust piling everywhere was proof of how long he was gone.

Setting my coffee mug down on to the coffee table,  I headed for the front door and pulled on my boots and coat, grabbed my keys, bag, gloves and hat before heading out the door connected to the garage. I started up the engine and as it warmed up, I took a shovel, opened the garage door and began shoveling the snow. Underneath it was the worn-out, cracked pavement that desperately needed to be replaced. 

As I shoveled, I thought of an old memory of my dad slipping on an ice patch hidden beneath the snow. He’d forgotten to throw salt down the night before and the snow below had frozen overnight.I watched from the living room window smirking as the drama unfolded. He pointed at the patch on the ground  and started spouting profanity as if the snow and ice could understand him. He was such a sweetheart, so on the rare occasion he got mad, it was hilarious. 

By the time I was done, it was way past the time to leave. It was 5:47 a.m. and I needed to be there at 5:55 to start my shift at 6.

“Fuck. I’m going to be late.”

I hated running late. It caused so much anxiety and stress.  Rationally, it was totally possible to get there on time. Even if I left three minutes later, I’d still be there on time, but I was always the type to arrive early. Better too early than to be late I always say.  So I hit the gas and drove as fast as I could to work. 

The roads were slippery as I'd expected. It had snowed yesterday and the tempertures were below freezing last night. It didn't help that my tire treads were starting to get too dull for this kind of weather and that I was too lazy to place those damn chains on. 

My favorite xmas song played over the radio as I got closer to work. I could already see the bridge that crossed the Blackwood river from the bright spotlights of the gas station on the other side. The street lights were tame compared to their blinding white and the Christmas decorations were so banal that I hardly paid attention to them anymore. 

As I got closer to the bridge, I could of sworn the roads were empty, not a soul could be seen. But as the front end of my truck landed over the connecting point of the bridge and the road, You know, that small bump they always have, that's when I saw it. 

I couldn't believe my eyes that there was a little girl walking alone across that bridge when it was still pitch black out. I stomped on the brake as fast as I could and kept my foot on it, trying to control the truck as it spun out of control. My only thought was that the little girl would be safe. 

My truck swerved from left to right. I tried to remember what my dad had taught me if I were ever in a situation like this, but i couldn't remember at all. How was it that I could remember  all those frivolous details about him, but not the most important ones when I needed it?

Losing all control, the truck smacked against the side of the bridge. The momentum flung it over the railing as it rolled over into the dark waters below.

As it fell, I fought with my seat belt to get it off. It all happened so fast that I hadn't even registered that the cold water was seeping through the cracked windshield. 

Finally free of the seatbelt, I tried to tug on the doors of the car to escape, but they wouldn't budge. They were fully submerged in the water and my only way out would be to break the windows and swim through them, but how? 

I didn't have anything in the truck with me that could be useful. The icy cold water was now up to my waist and I could feel my body temperature drop. My toes were already numb and my fingers were stiff from the cold. I panicked and began banging on the windows, but I knew it was no use. Eventually, as I sat there covered in the dark water of the Blackwood river, my body began to shut down. Then slowly my eyes began to blurr until I felt...

nothing.