Page 2 of Naughty Nicky

I take another calming breath and loosen my grip on the steering wheel a bit as I press a little harder on the gas.

And then everything happens all at once. I don’t even know what is happening.

I see a blur of black fur out the left of my window and then it’s suddenly running right in front of me.

I panic.

And I hit the brakes. Hard.

My car starts to fishtail as I try to correct the spin, but it’s no use. I am going to die.

I scream as I let go of the wheel just as my car starts to slide off the embankment to the right of me, and I plunge right into a large pile of snow.

The black blur of fur I saw earlier is stopped in front of the ridge of snow, and I curse at the bear before it runs off.

I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes, holding back tears. I’m an adult, I don’t need to cry over this.

What would my big brother do? I ask myself.

He would try to get out of this mess himself. He is the reliable one in the family.

I open my eyes and look around. I’m thankful the airbags didn’t go off, meaning my car is still drivable. I shift the gear into reverse and hit the gas, but nothing happens. My tires just spin.

Shit.

Maybe if I try moving forward and then reversing it will work better.

So I do just that, except all that does is drive me deeper into the snowbank.

Call someone, you dummy!

I swear it’s like a lightbulb just blew up in my head when I think of that.

Duh, this is why cell phones exist!

I grab my phone out of the holder it’s in and go to dial my dad just to realize I have zero service.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Am I being punished for something I don’t know I did? Why do I have no service? Why am I stuck in a snowbank right now with two boxes of macarons in the seat next to me? What did I do to deserve this?

I contemplate getting out of the car, but what am I going to do? Use my weak muscles to push my FJ out of the snow? Hell no. And I am not walking the three miles it is to Mrs. Perez’s house, not as the snow begins to fall heavier and thicker, coating the windshield in a heavy dusting as the wipers work to keep it clean. Not to mention I am wearing flip-flops. Let’s just say even in the frigid thirty-degree temperatures I cannot get my mind out of Bali so I stick to flip-flops year round. Another mistake I won’t make again.

I look over at the macarons and find them still sitting neatly buckled into the seat like I left them. At least I have food to survive the next however many hours I am left out here alone in the woods. What happens when the sun starts to set soon? Panic sets in as I look down at the gas gauge hoping I was smart enough sometime this week and filled her up. But of course not, I live life on the edge, and she is sitting at just under a quarter of a tank.

Oh my god, I am going to die out here.

There is no doubt in my mind that I am going to be found on the side of the road tomorrow, frozen solid clutching a box of macarons to my chest.

So much for my dreams.

I snort. I don’t even know what dreams I have anymore. Since my last dream failed, I’ve come to the conclusion dreams are stupid.

Now I know I am panicking as I start to dive into depression. This isn’t me. I’m usually the happy-go-lucky-girl. But the more time I spend in Ouray, the more I feel less like me and more like a shadow of myself.

I stare at my phone for nearly an hour, hoping that I’ll miraculously get service, but it’s no use. I am one hundred percent stranded out here. And not even one car has gone by in the last hour. Maybe because people actually paid attention to the weather and realized this storm was turning worse than predicted. I can’t even see out my windows anymore as the snow piles up. I gave up on my windshield wipers a long time ago.

The sun begins to set, and my stomach starts to growl. When was the last time I ate? Breakfast this morning? I kick myself for only shoving an apple down my throat and calling it a meal. I look over at my companions, the cookies in the boxes, and sigh.

I unbuckle the boxes of macarons and open one up looking at the array of purple, yellow, and pink cookies. I don’t even like macarons, but this may be my last meal on this earth. I may as well learn to like them.

---