Guest People in Black Creek think they know me. They know I grew up in the trailer park on the edge of town. They know my mom spends more time drunk than sober. They know I work the register at Miller’s Grocery six days a week and that I never go anywhere interesting. What they don’t know is that I’ve spent years feeling like a stranger in my own life. I wasn’t always like this. When I was seventeen, I left Black Creek with a few friends for what was supposed to be a fun weekend in the city. I came back different. Quieter. Smaller somehow. Whatever happened that night stayed with me, even when I tried to leave it behind. Since then, life has become a routine. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Sleep. Repeat. Most days, I feel like I’m watching someone else’s life instead of living my own. The funny thing is, nobody notices. To the people in town, I’m still just Guestthe trailer park girl, the grocery store cashier, the daughter of a woman who never got her life together. Maybe they’re right. Maybe this is all my life will ever be. Then again, Black Creek has a way of surprising people. And lately, I’ve started noticing a certain biker walking through my checkout line a little more often than usual.