Every snowflake was unique, but they all agreed on one thing: to make Decker’s life miserable today. 

He took to batting them away with wipers. They whined like sneakers on a gym floor. Each pass left streaks of water that froze into fog on the windshield. He could see the shadows of evergreens along the road. The heater of his old Impala wheezed hot breath, just enough to leave a bit of glass clear front and center of the car. Lurched forward with his head cocked to the right, Decker squinted through the glass.. 

He inched through the rime, playing a game of hide-and-seek with an elusive yellow line peppered with more bothersome flakes. Ghostly smoke rose from the ashtray in the center console, where a quarter of a cigarette lay wasted. Decker drew in the stale smell as he sucked his teeth, both olive-toned hands glued tight to the steering wheel. The driver freed a hand and reached for his bad habit, bringing it up to his lips. He inhaled, but a strangled tug boat blared in his passenger seat and the vapor stammered up his throat. He glanced over at his phone, lit up with a picture of a woman in yellow overalls bent over with her arms wrapped around a collie dog. A widget masked her face, reading “Work” hovering over it as the phone continued vibrating against a brown sack lunch. 

He snuck in another drag, a proper one, and then tossed the cigarette out of the window unfinished. He took a deep breath in and picked up the phone. 

“Hello.” He exhaled smoke with his greeting and pushed curled brown locks from his ear to tuck the phone onto his shoulder. 

His boss, Dante, on the other end of the line asked where he was.

“On the road. I can’t see well, I’m trying to get there.” 

Decker’s wheel began drifting to the right. “You’re already late, I’m tired of you not taking me seriously, do you—” the phone fell from his shoulder onto the floor as he pumped his brakes and flung the steering wheel to the left. The car slid, kicking up snow as it drifted towards the side of the road. It buckled left and halted between both lanes in a canted position.

A deep breath and a thousand heartbeats later, Decker pulled the car into reverse and dabbed the gas to get back into his lane. He sighed and reached down, fishing through rubbish, soda bottles, and sandwich wrappers until he felt the familiar phone case. He raised the phone, no voice on the other end. 

“Shit,” he said. He scrolled back through the phone and redialed his boss. It rang twice and then picked up. 

“Gioele’s Pizza, Dante speaking.”

“Hey Dante, I—”

“I can’t answer the phone right now. Leave a message after the beep.”

Beep.

“Hey Dante, this is Decker. I dropped the phone and about drove into the ditch. I’m still on my way, about ten minutes out, I think.”

Decker pressed his foot against the gas pedal, traveling forward at a careful pace again. He crested a hill, turning along a winding upward curve. The snow gave him a break, only lightly salting his windows now. He let a relieved sigh escape his lungs and reached for his packet of Camels. Halfway through pulling a fresh smoke out, he glanced back at the phone and pushed the death stick back into its place. 

He pulled a name up on his phone, “Marcy”, and hovered his finger over the call button. He didn't call her. His last regret.