Crossing through to Canada went way smoother than what my fears were expecting. It was quick; the custom's agents and border patrol had us step out while the cab and my bag were checked. They asked us questions, including why we were traveling to Canada, read over our identification papers, and ran our data through a computer. Then, they gave us instructions and told us mandatory information, and we were free to continue.

However, that still didn't stop my fears. Images of rushed Mounties and angry Canadian mobs chasing after me filled my mind, keeping me awake.

Only after we've been driving through for a couple of hours do I allow myself to relax. I snuggle back into the seat and curl up into the most comfortable position possible, given the circumstances.

Then, I manage to drift off to sleep again.

I wake up aware of the large, cold hands shaking my shoulders, and a name filling my ears as I open my eyes painstakingly slow. Not because I'm doing it on purpose, but because it physically feels like my eyelids are glued together.

Once I get them open, though, I'm met with the faint outline of a broad-shouldered Grace. Her eyebrows are in a seemingly permanent furrowed position, and her deep scowl is the most prominent thing seen in the low light.

"You need to sleep more, girl." She tells me as I sit up, rubbing my eyes.

"What time is it?" I ask, confused.

"It's ten. I've been driving for almost 7 hours, and there are 30 more hours left to go. I just thought you'd like to use the restroom or something. I know I did."

"We're at a gas station?" I question, already knowing the answer. "Oh!"

I quickly grab my bag and open up the door beside me, about to hop out when she says, "Hurry up, cause I'm hitting the road again in five minutes. With or without you."

I nod and instantly make my way out the door and onto the ground, the cold air hitting my face.

A few minutes later I come racing out of the gas station door, searching through the cold air for a glimpse of Grace's truck.

Once I find it, I quickly run back to the semi, yanking open the passenger door and getting in. I put my duffle bag in the back again and buckle up, turning to face Grace.

"You almost took five minutes." She grumbles, starting the truck after I shut the door behind me.

"But, I didn't."

She's silent for a few seconds, and I'm expecting a remark like, "Shut your trap, girl!" but what she says instead, or rather asks, makes me freeze like a tongue on an icy metal pole.

"You're a runaway, aren't you?" She questions calmly, putting the semi out of park and pulling away from the gas station.

Well, I thought that part was quite manifest.

"Yes," I answer honestly.

"So I'm guessing your name isn't Sarah Smith," she states.

What if she knows?

Instead of answering her, I ask, "Are you going to turn me in?"

She's silent for a few more seconds.

But how would she know? I have a few days, at least.

"Depends on why you're running away." She answers simply.

Oh, good. Grace doesn't know.

"I'm running away because I had to get away from someone."

It's not a lie, surprisingly.

"Is this someone dangerous?"

Thinking of her and the burning house, I answer: "Yes."

"Did you do anything illegal?"

Should I be honest? I'll be honest.

"Maybe."

There's silence for about a minute, and it's starting to make me nervous.

But then, "No."

"No, what?" I ask her.

"I'm not going to turn you in." She clarifies, and I instantly let out a sigh of relief.

The gracious feeling of relief is suddenly replaced by confusion, though.

"Why not?" I question.

She glances at me for a few seconds, then moves her eyes back to the road.

"Because I did the same thing as you."

"You ran away?" I ask, not too shocked.

Not much tends to surprise me these days, unfortunately.

She nods, "When I was 19. I wish I hadn't, though. It was for a stupid reason, and by the time I had changed my mind, it was too late."

Ouch. That's why she was asking if my situation was terrible. She wanted to make sure I wasn't going to make the same mistake she did.

My heart instantly reaches out for the woman sitting in the driver's seat next to me.

She had made a mistake, and then it was too late; she couldn't do anything to change it.

"I'm sorry," I say honestly.

She shakes her head, "Don't be. It's my fault, plus I have a new life now. Granted, it isn't the best or the warmest one, but at least it is one."

I nod, taking in every word she says. Some of us thrive in the cold, anyway.

There's silence between us once again as we continue down the road. It's a silence that I can't stand, which says a lot. I usually enjoy silence to the fullest. I don't have to talk, and I don't have to hear others speak! It truly is the best of both worlds! However, this time, I just feel like I didn't say enough.

"So, you're going to Alaska, right?" She asks quickly, starting to make conversation.

It really is too bad that she can only take me to Beaver Creek. I actually enjoy her company.

"Yeah, I am," I answer her.

"It's cold there."

"Very."

"You know how to defend yourself? There aren't always going to be truckers like me, you know. And, Alaska has some very dark crime rates."

I think over what she has said for a minute. The crime rates for Alaska are very high, that's true. It's very dangerous for a girl my age, too. However, I have to believe that I'll be fine. I'm not a small girl; I'm 5'10". And, I tried my best to prepare by watching quite a lot of self-defense Youtube videos.

Well, hopefully I'll be okay.

"I'll be okay. Granted, I would have been better off with that knife I had, though..."

"Better off with the people at the border?"

"Yeah, no. You're right."

She laughs lightly, and I take the opportunity to ask, "You aren't going to drive the remaining distance without sleeping, right?"

"I'll park at a truck stop in Grande Prairie, which is about seven hours away."

"So, you will have driven for like 14 hours straight?"

"Yes."

"Wow, I could never," I reply. "Also, which province are we in?"

"Alberta."

"You know, I always used to dream about visiting Canada one day. Particularly, British Columbia, but I never thought I'd be visiting like this."

"It never turns out the way you want it to."

"Unfortunately."

Silence falls upon us once again, and I decide I might as well listen to music. I'm not sure if I can fall asleep right now, anyway. Reaching behind me, I pull out my tablet, earbuds, and a water bottle from my bag.

"Oh, good. I thought you were going to suggest I put on the radio."

Visibly raising my right eyebrow up, I question, "What? Do you not like music?"

"I like some music, I just don't listen to the radio for a reason. They're always playing that Justin Beaver or whatever his name is."

I laugh, "Dustbin Beaver."

"Is that what you call him?"

"Yep. Much more fitting, in my opinion."

She grunts, and I put in my earbuds, opening up the music app to see the songs I've bought.

Clicking on 'Wolves' by Selena Gomez and Marshmello, I turn up the volume and close my eyes, drowning myself in the song.

In your eyes, there's a heavy blue.

One to love and one to lose.

The song continues on, and I mouth the lyrics as I know them by heart.

When the song is over, I play another. And, I drift off only to wake up to Grace, who is tapping me on the shoulder.

"We're at the truck stop. You wanna go to the restroom before I lock up the truck and sleep?"

"You mean I actually slept for seven more hours straight?"

"Yes. And now I'm tired. So hurry up."

Nodding, I decide to leave my bag in the truck while I quickly run into the restroom.

It's unlikely that Grace will just drive off with my money.

A few minutes later, I return to the truck and snuggle back into my seat. Grace locks the doors and hands me a wool blanket.

Taking it and draping it over myself, I ask, "Where'd these blankets come from?"

She points to the green bin in the back, and I nod, ready to fall back asleep again. Even though it's about 5 am, it's November, so it's still not bright out, yet. And I intend to take advantage of the lack of light.

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is that it's snowing. Fluffy snowflakes fall from the sky and cover the ground in a beautifully delicate way. It looks so soft and pure. So clean.

Looking over at Grace, I see she's fast asleep. Quietly, I take the blanket I have and drape it over her. Then, I look at my tablet for the time. It reads 7:17 am. However, I'm pretty sure Grande Prairie is in a different time zone than Spokane. So, I think it's technically 8:17 am. Either way, it's bright out, and I feel wide awake. I decide to use this quiet early morning time to my advantage and reach back to my duffle bag, quietly taking uncle John's letters out.

Here I go rereading the letters for the thousandth time...pathetic.

I don't even bother to look at the older letters. Instead, I skip right to the last letter he ever sent to me. Dated Sunday, February 17th, 2013. I skip past his condolences to read his instructions about finding his friend.

I wonder who his friend is.

Is he his age? Is he older; is he younger? Is he loud or quiet? Does he have a family?

So many questions about his friend, but more crucial ones about my uncle.

I wonder where John is.

Is he okay? Is he safe?

He said he got into some messy things. He saw things he shouldn't have seen. What was that supposed to mean?

What if he's hurt? Or worse, what if he's dead?

And, why do I keep asking myself, 'what if?' as if I actually know the answer?

The truth is that I have no idea what I'm doing. And, that wouldn't bother me so much if I wasn't alone. But, I'm alone, and I'm lost, and I'm scared.

If mom were here, she'd hug me and tell me that I'm a "brave little butterfly." If dad were here, he'd smile and tell me that I'll be okay. That I'm strong enough to do this on my own. "And that's what truly counts."

But they're not here. And they haven't been here for 7 years.

And I hate that their memory is starting to fade in my mind. I wish I could remember all the little moments with them as I do with people nowadays. To remember their stupid jokes, the sound of their footsteps, or their favorite songs will be something I'll spend the rest of my life wishing for. But it will never happen. I was only 11 when they died. How was I supposed to know how fast they would disappear?

How was I supposed to know that one day they would go out for a trip to town and then never come home?

"Hey, girl, you alright?"

I look over at Grace, pulling myself from my thoughts.

I blink for a couple of seconds, making sure I'm not crying.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because you just look really gloomy."

"Oh. Well, I'm fine."

She nods, folding up the blankets she has and putting them back into the green bin.

"Wait, you're not actually getting up now, are you?"

She puts the keys back into the ignition and turns, unlocking the doors. "Yes, I am. Why?"

I glance back at the clock, seeing that it's been an hour since I woke up. "You only got like three to four hours of sleep."

"That's how much I usually get. I can't sleep for much longer."

"You're sure you'll be okay to drive?"

"Yes, I am. Now shut up and watch the truck while I use the restroom."

Before I can agree, she hops out of the truck with her purse and slams the door shut.

"Okay."

I sit in the silence of the truck that's surprisingly not too cold, holding my hands in front of the heater.

When Grace returns, she carries two cups of coffee. She sets them each down in the cupholders and motions for me to get out of the truck.

"Hurry up and use the restroom if you gotta. And don't get any ideas. One ain't for you. I need at least two cups of coffee in the morning."

Nodding, I slide out of the semi and return about 5 minutes later.

Grace is on her phone, and I see that she has Google Maps up.

"22 hours and 40 minutes to Beaver Creek in the Yukon," she announces as I buckle my seatbelt.

"So...practically a whole day," I say gloomily.

"Yes! Isn't it great?"

She seems so cheerful that I'm almost taken aback.

"You...enjoy driving for hours upon hours?"

"Don't you?"

"Well, yes. But, usually, I'm able to blast music through the speakers and sing loudly. And, this time, I'm in a hurry to get where I'm going."

She nods, "Makes sense."

"Yeah."

"Now shut up and listen to some music or something, girl. I'm in a good mood at the moment, and I'd rather not have your voice ruin it."

I nod, keeping quiet.

Fair enough.

I pull out my tablet and notice that it's dropped 30%, probably from falling asleep with it on.

Still, I plug in my earbuds and click 'shuffle.'

The song that comes on isn't necessarily a song I really like, but I still think it's quite catchy.

Pretty soon, song after song, album after album, artist after artist later, and four hours have gone by.