The petite steering wheel keychain dangled quietly from the keyhole. My gaze shifted toward the fluorescent pink glow spilling from the double door frame of Copper29 Bar. A thin frame headed toward me, soft words floating behind her. A slight sense of recognition, perhaps, but I dismissed it and flung open the Cuban Chevy’s door. The snap of the seatbelt prompted her to utter, “You give free rides? Head to West Miami, it’ll just be 10 minutes.” I peered in the rearview mirror and replied, “Of course, here to help. Just insert your address here.”

  Rolling to a halt, I said, “Good night. Stay safe.” Her golden hair veiled her features as she clutched her purse. A mumbled “thank you” escaped her lips as she stumbled out of the car. It took her a full minute to approach and unlock her door. My engine roared to life and left a trail of dust, heading to the same parking lot. 

  My fingers raked through my hair, heavy with fatigue. The steering wheel keychain slipped through my fingers. Lights out and still. Crimson beamed from the clock that read 1:03 a.m. I sighed as I drifted by a picture frame of my uncle and his warm, comforting smile.

  Slithers of golden rays settled on my seats. My radio spewed news on a recent accident on Dixie Highway, but I silenced it by taking out the keys. Parking in the lot, I snatched my Jansport black backpack and raced to first period. Out of breath, I knocked heavily against the door. The force knocked my small notebook, and it opened to cursive handwriting. Reaching for it, the door knocked against me and toppled me. Head tilting upward, the unchanged girl from two weeks ago startled me and offered a hand. I quickly gathered the journal and rushed past her. My teacher pointed out that I was “late again.” Involuntarily, my head bowed. Whispers of a potential party drifted through female voices, until a familiar one joined in: “Who’s gonna be the designated driver?” “We’ll figure it out.”

  At 9 o'clock, the bell shrieked and all rose to leave, including myself, until a gentle hand extended to my arm. “Ryder. You picked me up a couple weeks back, no?” Memories lingered in my mind. She continued, “I just wanted to thank you. I felt off, but I really appreciated the gesture. How come—” The teacher interjected by asking, “Is there an issue?” We both replied with “no” and headed our separate ways.

  Lockers rattled across the endless halls smothered with posters: “Drive Sober or Don’t Drive!,” “Buzzed Driving = Boozed Consequences!,” and “Make Memories, Not Accidents!” Numerous others existed, yet these particularly resonated. I weaved through the cluster of students, desperate to reach the office. Loose papers clung to the bulletin boards, my eyes surveying today’s agenda: “Cafeteria Meeting for Presentation ‘The Dangers of Drinking & Driving.’” The school bell pierced the air once again.

  Sitting down at the crowded lunch tables, a message invaded my screen: “Johnny the Bartender: You comin’ 2nite?” My fingers darted across the keys for the response: “Yeah man, be there @ 10 pm.” I swept the stretching cafeteria to find the blonde staring right at me. Upon the meeting’s initiation, a smile spread across my face, and I directed my attention to the lecture.

  My trusted notebook always remained within reach. I flipped through the logs dating back a year. Scribbled on the pages were names (if they were talkative), dates, age assumptions, and location—always Copper29 Bar. From an outsider’s perspective, I might appear as an uninterested teenager jotting aimlessly in an arbitrary notebook. Truly, I was recording points made from the presentation:

  I ceased writing. I analyzed the room according to my assumptions. Jocks on the left smirked, throwing snide comments between each other; nerds sporadically spread across the table with attention trained on the visitors; the Spanish program exchanged among themselves in rapid Spanish. However, I paused on her—the one staring back. She headed in my direction to settle next to me. Leaning near my ear, she whispered, “You really pay attention to all this?” I nodded instinctively, causing the corner of her mouth to lift knowingly. Unconsciously, my hand brushed over the keychain, the same one my uncle constantly carried. She cast a pensive gaze on the dull, streaked surface and tapped my pencil against the logbook. “I learned my lesson. One mistake isn’t worth it.”

  Flashbacks arose of police sirens wailing, people gathering around the scene, emotions tangling, and a pair of smashed Corona bottles glinting mischievously back at me. Every glance, every touch, every ride I offer, is in honor of him—an attempt to prevent a tragedy like his. A single night, a single choice can ripple through a lifetime.