I learnt to drive the summer I turned 18. My boyfriend got tired of driving me everywhere, so he taught me. 

He told me that I did everything wrong—that I didn’t take the wheel right, that my turns were too slow and that my brakes were too sharp. After every short drive (which usually ended with me almost killing both of us), he wouldn’t stay frustrated. 

Eventually, I got the hang of driving his car. He let me borrow it every now and then—more often than he let me drive him places. He said that he’d let me wreck his car as long as he wasn’t in it.

Thing is, I got so used to driving his car that I couldn’t drive anything else. By the time I had the money to buy my own car, we had split up, and I hadn’t driven in months. Naturally, I bought the same model he had. I chose a different color, though. I didn’t like the bright red, anyway.

~~~

The Christmas market is one of the few things people look forward to in Montpelier. There’s nothing else to do, really. 

Not everyone likes the Christmas market, though. It’s cold and crowded (whatever that means in a town of eight thousand people). Things get more expensive because of tourists coming in and the old people become more insufferable than ever, mumbling “Back in my day…” over and over again under their breaths until they fall asleep in their creaky rocking chairs. They bring them inside for the winter because old people can’t stand looking at snow—they either leave for Florida or hibernate, huffing and snoring like brown bears in their snow caves.

Mostly, the locals that visit the Christmas market aren’t Vermont natives. The ones that are, though, are usually middle aged moms with Hallmark addictions. My ex-boyfriend's mother is one of those moms. She took us to the market every year for the three years we were together. I liked her a whole lot, but I think she forgot about me when she met his new girlfriend. I saw all three of them at the market together when I made a trip last year. I didn’t bother to go this year—not just because I didn’t have anyone to go with, but because I couldn’t stand the sight of them.

~~~

My ex-boyfriend made me get out of bed every time it snowed. It didn’t take much for him to convince me—snow days with him were always fun. He’d drag me around town and we’d have snowball fights wherever we could; sometimes, kids younger than us would join, laughing like it wouldn’t be their last snowball fight. I’d laugh, too, but because I knew the snowball fights were ending for me. 

~~~

It’s been years, but I still can’t drive by the Christmas market on the days it snows. It reminds me of him too much. I’d hear his voice telling me to put my foot on the break, I’d see his hand pointing to the freshest patch of snow, and I’d feel his mom’s arm reaching over to make sure I was alright when I braked too hard. 

I know there’s no world in which all of these things happen in a blue Toyota, but it feels like it did, and I can’t shake that feeling.