I have a confession.

 I have a confession, something that I did that caused a lot more trouble than if I hadn't. Mostly my fault, but the others blame themselves. None of the fault-ness was theirs. It was all mine. 

It all started on a snowy evening on March 26th. You're probably wondering why were still getting blizzards and still have another foot of snow coming, but it's that stupid coastal storm. I hate coastal storms because they ruin all the fun. 

Mom was doing pottery inside our previous house that we still own, but it's too old to live in. It has mice and stuff. We still use it for storage, and it's also a decent pottery studio. 

It was cold in there. Too cold. I went into the truck and sat down, and turned on an XM radio station to listen to some good 80s music. But I got bored. And I was still cold. So I returned into the pottery studio. 

I sat down and watched Mom make pottery for about 20 minutes. Mom tried making a pot, and then said, "Okay, Marci, we can go now." So we packed up and walked outside to the truck. That's when I noticed something... odd. 

It was a sound that made me stop in my tracks and look at the source of the sound. Uh-oh, I thought. I had done something terrible. Mom seemed to sense my concern and look at the source too after a few seconds. I hoped she wouldn't be mad, but here we were, and here was the terrible, terrible problem that was totally entirely my fault. 

The headlights. They were flickering dimly in a way I hadn't seen before. They flickering came with that odd clicking sound that sounded like a ton of things were causing the clicking. "Wh-what happened?" I asked. Mom froze. She looked at me. "I don't know," she said. "Let's just get home."

We got into the truck and Mom tried to start it. It made a whining sound, just a low and small sound that sounded like an airplane being massaged. I gulped. I knew what had happened: When I was listening to the radio, everything was on. The heated seats, the radio, the screen, everything. When I returned to the studio, I had left it all on and drained the battery. The realization of what I had done fell on me like a heavy block as Mom made confused sounds. 

Mom attempted to start it again. I felt scared. This time, the truck made a sound like an orchestra being massaged. I don't think you're supposed to massage orchestras, though. Like, the instruments would get damaged from the giant masseuse. You're supposed to massage people and dough, not orchestras. 

"A-are we walking home?" I asked. My voice was tiny and strained. I didn't want to get in trouble or get accused. I had enough going on: depression, deadlines, bullies, and now this. I was already carrying a heavy load, and this felt like one more thing to collapse under. 

Mom sighed. "I guess so." We got out of the truck, leaving it behind in the snow, and walked up our long, steep driveway to get home. 

The walk home felt awkward. None of us said a word other than to call our dog Cleo to stay close. The snow fell on my coat. Then, near the top of the hill, Mom said, "So, what did you do?" My heart stopped. I felt so guilty at that moment. I tried to reply by shifting the blame away from me. "Uh, maybe an engine problem? It is pretty cold." 

Mom seemed angry at that. "Did you drain the battery?"

"Uh, maybe? I don't know. It's hard to--" 

Mom cut me off. With some sort of sentence. I don't know what. 

Minutes later, her and Dad drove down on a quad to charge the truck. The house felt empty and quiet. I added a log to the fireplace. I played a card game of Crazy 8s with myself. Anything to keep myself from feeling guilty. I did a quick Duolingo lesson to keep my streak. 

Then they were home. Dad was angry, yelling at Mom. He was so mad at me. Super mad. I felt small. Tears blurred my vision. I hid in the bathroom. 

At least I got that confession out. Now we have no vehicle options, because the truck is drained and Dad's truck had been carried out on a barge to a different town, but he was sent home from his job there due to an "atmospheric river" (which sounds utterly terrifying) and they never returned his truck. We're getting another foot of snow. In late March. We might get a big dump in April, too. It's supposed to be spring. My favourite season has been ruined by a seemingly infinite winter.