It was an accident.

It was an accident. I’d never meant to go to that dim cafe just outside Surrey. I’d never meant to fall in love with a waitress. I’d never meant to have four kids and move to Canada. But that’s what happened. All because of a broken gas gauge.

I was just another day. Coming home from work, waiting at the border crossing, not really looking forward to anything. Just another day in August. I was driving a beat up Volvo at the time, which the border guards still checked every day, because it looked like there should be something illegal inside. It wasn't much of a looker, that's for sure; the hood crunched from a run-in with some rather dense quadruped, the bumper hanging almost to the ground, and duct tape wound around the whole thing in a vain attempt to keep itself together. It was like me that way, working hard to pull its life together, but only making itself look more pathetic. I was pathetic. Didn’t have a reason to get up in the morning, but somehow still did, getting down to the States for work, and then driving back to Canada to spend the night at the economy hotel in Vancouver, or “with my family”, as I said at customs. At this point, they were a lot closer than my real family anyway. When was the last time I’d seen a blood relative? Five years ago, maybe seven? Long before I lived this absurd farce of an existence, anyway.

But that day things were destined to be different. Did I mention the gas gauge? It was all the gauges, actually; none of them did a thing. So it was anyone’s guess as to what my speed, mpg, and door warnings would have been at any given moment. Fortunately, I was a fairly good guesser, and only two or three times had I gotten a ticket for going 80 in a 50. But I wasn’t guessing very well today, that’s for sure. After guessing the wrong order at work, and incorrectly guessing that I wouldn’t be delayed at customs for an hour, I wasn’t really up to guessing that I wouldn't run out of gas. I knew I was pushing it, but I was always pushing it. It’s just that today I was really pushing it. And it was heavy. It’s not easy to push a Volvo uphill by yourself. Some might say it’s impossible. Which is why I stopped doing it. Because even though people will tell you to do the impossible, they really only mean that you should do the difficult, which is quite a different thing. No-one ever does the impossible. So I left the car on the highway and started walking, guessing that someone would help me out. You can imagine how that worked out. Three hours of walking later, and I’m in front of a filthy little diner called Manny’s Kitchen. I just wanted a warm place to sit down, so in I went, and there I saw her; sparkling brown eyes shining in a galaxy of freckles, and a permanent retail smile that will fake all your troubles away. I knew that she was the one. So I went to Manny’s again the next week, and the week after, and soon was coming in every day. From then on, I had a reason to get up in the morning; and it was to get to see her. Even if seeing her was all I could do at first. But eventually she began to reciprocate, and I could see the same excitement as I felt, shining in her eyes when I walked in. And before a full six months were up, we were married, and started a family. And of course everything changed then. I got my work permit, and eventually my citizenship; making my few months stay into a lifetime commitment to Canada. And it was all an accident. But it was the best accident that I ever had.