The Blizzard That Killed Us All
I always thought my dad was a great driver. He sped through traffic and weaved his way out expertly, like a professional. Through snow and rain, he brang us where we needed to be, fast. But it was the Blizzard Of NYC that year that made a sweet visit to New York a horrible nightmare. My brother, Tommy, was in the backseat, sleeping. My big sister, Ally, was texting in the passenger seat, and my mom was trying to change Henry's diaper. My dad was trying his best to get us to New York, his windshield wipers swiping across the headboard quicker than life. I still remember him whistling impatiently, trying to find the quickest way to get out, to un-glue ourselves from the thick traffic. "Dad" I said, popping a Cheez-It in my mouth, "Are we almost there?" ""No, Sabrina, we're not" he said, griniding his teeth.
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