we drove in snow tonight

We drove in snow tonight. The wipers batted feebly at snowflakes glowing in halogen beams. I hunched over the wheel, staring at diminishing ruts in the slush, distracted by sopping whiteness that kept coming and coming and drawing my gaze from the road, nursing the accelerator, trying to stay ahead of approaching headlights and behind nearing taillights. Branches laden with early snow jutted out of the darkness. My wife sang along with the CD over the noise of the road and the sound of splashing tires.

This morning, fifteen minutes before the first bell, the staff met in the library to hear bad news. Usually I stand on the margin unaffected, unaware of the loss, but not this morning. This morning they said Brittany's name. Car accident, life support, brain dead, words that swirled in a snowy blur, dazzling, blinding.

In my memory: a persistent smile. A wicked grin, sometimes. A hello in the hall, a chat every week or so. Laughing about last year's class. Trying to predict the future. Fidgeting, shaky confidence, typical for a junior. Slight hesitation. Looking for approval. Tossing out big plans of school overseas, community college first, though. Running Start. Maybe soon, maybe later.

What should I do, Mr. Anderson? Don't wait, Brittany--sign up now. You never know how life could change, what'll happen in days or months. Yeah, she says, unsure but sympathetic. I dunno. A goofy grin. Take your chance while you've got it. Circumstances change. You'll change. You never know.

I said that. A day before the crash, I said that.

We drive in snow, searching the darkness for the road ahead, looking for the friendly glow of taillights, spurred on by the headlights behind us. We take our chances, we guess, we stray. We smile and press on until our moment comes and the snow and the darkness swallow us up and we are but shadows of ourselves in the memories of those who drive in snow.