Photo:
Stephan Matera

See also Contest 01: Chairlift Encounter

See also Contest 02: Panic

See also Contest 03: Squalor

See also Contest 04:
Fall

Snow Falling on Seaters
By J.K. GIVENS

"I'm taking my pants off so don't look," he says. Terrific. I turn my head and try to focus on something else. A late-afternoon storm begins to gently coat every in- and out-of-state car in the lot, including ours, with a thin layer of white.

From the driver's seat I make out a few diehard souls tucking to the chair for one last run as lifties shuffle their feet toward the corral, slowly pulling up the ropes. Most of the day's skiers are walking that slow, maniacal waddle from the lodge to their cars with boards slung over shoulders, and heavy eyes, and oh man, why did I turn to the right!?!

"I told you not to look!"

Girls, lots of girls, girls in bikinis, on a beach, playing volleyball... Must keep looking left...

"All right, we're good."

I throw the car in reverse and back out of the lot, staring at the huge flakes quickly piling up around us. I turn to my now fully clothed navigator. "It's just a passing shower, right?"

"Sure. We'll be fine."

We leave the parking lot under heavy skies and fading daylight, heading down a lonely, narrow road with no cars in sight. It's snowing painfully hard now. Every mile or so we pass a driveway leading high into nowhere. Sometimes we see a house with a light on. Most times, we don't see anything, particularly the double yellow line. Or the sky. It's just us and the darkness and heavy snow that's now pounding our windshield on this unplowed road in the middle of the woods.

I give it a little gas around a hidden corner and the back end slides out. I turn into it instinctively, giving it more gas, staying clear of the brake. The car finds its way back to the center of the road and we keep going. Still, silence.

That house back there had its lights on. "Remember that place," I say, hoping that when, not if, but when we crash into a tree or a moose or whatever else is lurking out there, that at least one of us will be able to trudge back for help. Is he thinking the same thing? It's night now. I can't admit that I'm nervous, but my death grip on the wheel and my forward hunch probably give me away.

We should have stayed, I think to myself. The wipers tick their whick-whop, whick-whop above the slow hum of the tires floating on unpacked snow. Tomorrow's a Monday. Nobody's going to be on the hill. We could have fresh tracks to ourselves all day. We could find a condo or a hotel or something cheap and we could be sitting on a warm, dry couch right now, planning out the morning. We'd be there early, first in line, first to the top, first tracks...

"Right," he finally says, as if I'd been broadcasting all of this and he's just taken it in. We could turn around now. Nothing's stopping us. Just pull the car over and turn. Now.

Movement. I flash the high beams for a second, thinking there's something out there, down in the middle of the road. The light reflects off the snow, completely blinding me. Is this what vertigo feels like? I slowly pull the car over to what I think is the side of the road and put it in park. Snow immediately collects on the hood, half an inch in an instant. I scan the middle of the road but see nothing, or do I?

Flakes the size of hands fall through the steady stream of light coming from both front corners of the car. The light gradually disappears into the darkness ahead. "Should we turn around?" I ask without turning to address my copilot.

He's quiet for a moment as if savoring or dreading the possibilities. "What do you think?"

                                                                                        Next: number 4


 Discuss this story in our Workshop forum