The Sudden Weight of Snow (19 page)

“Harper, this is Susan,” Gabe said and I held out my hand automatically, smiled. Susan looked down at it for a moment, then took it in her own, something that wasn’t quite a smile on her face.

“Good to see you back, Harper,” Thomas said and moved out from under Susan, his hands on her hips, shifting her weight. “Sounds like they need some help up there,” he directed his chin toward the musicians. “Enough of this blue-grass, eh? Methinks we need some jazz.” And he left.

“So, Harper – that’s a great name – you from Sawmill?” Susan asked. She didn’t look at me but felt around in her pockets. When she found a smoke she looked up, blankly, hands on her knees, as though she had forgotten who she was talking to.

“Here.” Gabe reached out his lighter.

“Uh, yeah, basically,” I answered, embarrassed at my lack of eloquent speech.

“Hmm,” Susan said in response, no indication of whether she was thinking about my answer or about something else completely.

“Don’t ask her if she likes it,” Gabe said.

Susan let out one chuckle, then said, “All right, I see you two have already been through this.” She paused to take a drag of her cigarette. “Well, I hope you have a good time tonight,
Harper. I’d better go …” Her voice trailed off, eyes already somewhere else in the room. She got up and walked off.

“Sorry,” Gabe said.

“No, no. For what?”

“I don’t know. Susan’s not really used to having me around yet. She – I don’t know.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you can never apologize for your own mother.” I looked around, not knowing that I was looking for Krista until I spotted her. Across the room, I saw the pale curve between her jaw and shoulder blade when she threw her neck back, laughing. People walked in front of me and I lost sight of Krista. Then I saw her again, hand over mouth, chin lowered, her shoulders bobbing. I stared at her until she looked up and waved. I felt like I knew who I was while in a group of people if I could use Krista as a reference point.

“Do you want to sit down?” Gabe asked.

“Depends where,” I answered.

He led me back into the pantry, spread out the jackets on the deep freeze and then lifted me up onto them. The curtain was pulled back, open to the rest of the room. I turned my head and watched the musicians. Thomas was up, his cheeks expanding as he blew into the sax. The banjo had been replaced by a stand-up bass. And, true to Thomas’s word, the music was sounding more like jazz. Gabe stood, facing me, his hands on my thighs. I could feel him watching my face. I tried to swing my legs in time to the music but the rhythm lurched. I kept trying. The feeling of my clothing rubbing against Gabe left a small, tight feeling in my stomach. My throat expanded.

“You cold?” Gabe asked. I shrugged. He reached behind me and pulled a coat over my shoulders. As he did, I parted my legs and he slid between them until his pelvis hit the deep freeze. When he pulled the coat around me, I leaned into him. He lightly tugged on my hair, then drew me toward him with it. The way we kissed then was urgent, awkward. I could feel the edge of the deep freeze on the back of my thighs, his tongue smooth in my mouth. My desire slid down between us, jumping then retreating like the jagged music from the next room. I leaned back from Gabe for air, dizzy and giggling. I felt delirious. When I turned my head to take a breath, I caught Thomas’s eyes on me from over the sax, his flared nostrils. Or at least thought I did. I thought about what he must have seen. The urgency and delirium, the laughter, and I knew I must have looked beautiful then.

We moved back into the main hall. The room was hot and humid, thick with bodies. I was wearing long johns under my jeans and felt warm, heavy, content. Gabe moved around me – a hand playing with the fabric against my thigh or the hair behind my ear, then he was gone, somewhere in the room, then back again. People played music for hours – switching off when they got thirsty, tired, or wanted a smoke. I had a glass in my hand that was refilled throughout the night. Cigarettes and joints were passed from mouth to hand to mouth. At times, I was unable to determine whether what I was saying was coherent. Other times, I could ease into the feeling, lean back and experience the solidity of the wall and the certainty of the words. I was leaning, shoulder to beam, watching people dance,
When Gabe came up to me, holding my coat in front of him. “Want to go outside, get some air?” he asked.

“Sure, why not,” I answered. “I’ll have to get a hat and scarf, though – as much as you alone should warm me up.” I smiled as I turned to the pantry.

As soon as we got outside, Gabe offered, “Smoke?” Even though I’d already taken in a few drinks and tokes, the reality of sitting outside with Gabe made me nervous and this sobered me up. I took the cigarette hoping for a buzz. Snow was falling but it wasn’t skin-numbing cold. We sat on the back steps of the building, inhaling deeply, both watching the snow fall like it could tell us something.

“Hey, I probably need to go home soon – do you know what time it is? I should find Krista.” I said all this quickly, remained immobile on the steps. Gabe turned and grinned at me but didn’t answer. When I had sucked everything I could out of it, I ground the cigarette into a large can filled with sand. “I can’t go home smelling like smoke. Do you have any gum?”

“Fresh air.”

“What?”

“Fresh air will get rid of the smell.”

“Yeah, but that takes time and as much as I’d love to, we can’t sit out here for hours getting fresh. I really need to go soon.”

“We can run through it, get the full effects more quickly. I’ll start the truck, you get ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To run. I’ll help you find Krista later.” He paused. “Soon.”

While Gabe started the truck and warmed it up, I did jumping jacks in the beams of the headlights. He flashed them and the shadow of my limbs strobing against the snow struck me as very funny. His foot was on and off the gas pedal until the engine caught and was running on its own. He then blew the horn and I yelped. “You ready?” he called as he slammed the door of the truck.

“Yes!” I yelled back.

“Then go!”

I ran past Gabe toward the field. I heard him running behind me and felt a dull knife of something like fear and excitement between my ribs, prodding my stomach. When I got to the fence, I didn’t know where the gate was. Gabe was right behind me, his breath creating fog in the cold air.

“Jump over it,” he said.

The fence was barbed wire. I watched while Gabe quickly found the right place to put his hands so that the wire was taut and still for a moment while he launched himself over it like a gymnast. I knew, even though the packed snow lessened the height of the fence, I wouldn’t be able to do the same thing. My arms weren’t strong enough, the wire would buckle and bring me down on its points. Gabe was already running straight into the field. I found a place where the ground dipped. I dropped and rolled once, quickly, feeling my coat catch on the wire and release, then I was up and after Gabe, who was almost out of sight, his figure against the snow being swallowed by the dark. I wouldn’t call out; I would depend on my legs to take me to him.

I was wearing jeans, long johns, two pairs of socks, a pair of
boots, the laces cinched tight. A sweater, coat, scarf and hat were all hindrances as I ran. I couldn’t hear Gabe’s steps, only my own breath. As Iran deeper into the field, I sank into the snow to my calf, felt the weight of it when I lifted my heel for the next step. Momentum loosened the snow and to keep myself going I imagined pushing through strata of clouds. The breath I expelled became moisture, coated my skin along with the snow that melted on contact and the mucus that ran from my nose. I tried to wipe at my face as I ran, never able to dry it.

When I saw the bank, I could think of nothing else but sliding down. At the bottom, I stopped, couldn’t hear anything above the rasp of my breath. I watched it explode into steam then fall back against my face until I felt the moisture form crystals on my lashes, around my nostrils. As I sat still, the snow stuck to my lashes. There was no wind, nothing but the barely discernible hum of falling flakes and a sound that might have been water running under ice, somewhere, not near. No sound of Gabe’s boots in the snow, no sound of Gabe. I looked back up the bank to where I could see the glow from the farm. I told myself that I had nothing to be afraid of, then yelled, “Gabe!”

Nothing.

“Gaa-aabe!” The thought of walking – essentially crawling – back up the hill exhausted me. “Gabriel! You asshole! Come find me and carry me back!” I heard a laugh, somewhere near me. I turned and tried to orient myself. “Gabe, I heard you!”

To the right, there was a grove of trees like a shadow. I could make out the twisted lines of the first trunks against the snow but branches, needles, and trees eventually deepened into grey, then black.

From somewhere in there came Gabe’s voice. “Aha, you think you’re a princess, do ya?” I tried to follow his voice with my eyes. “Think I’ll carry you? Then you have to come find me, princess.” The voice shifted but there was no other noise or movement. It was cold enough that the snow that fell stayed dry and light but not cold enough that it squeaked underfoot. This was the all-encompassing snow of folk tales, of losing all bearings – it covered tracks, obliterated sound.

“Gabe!” I yelled again, not knowing what else to say. When he didn’t answer, I chose forest over bank. When I entered, I thought I heard something and stopped. Nothing but my own breath, boughs creaking under the weight of snow. And then something – a sound that could have been anything but I decided it was him. I stopped in my tracks, feet in the depression my boots had made in the snow, and understood the exact meaning of that phrase. Another sound, this time like rough fabric against wood, but I couldn’t tell from which direction or how far away. I began moving again, keeping my breath small, my steps light. I could see the glow of the field behind me, felt reassured by the presence of light. I took one step forward, two steps to the side through the trees, not wanting to stray far from the field. Gabe said, “Pssst,” from deeper in the trees. I knew he was leading me in. I didn’t call out again, didn’t want to miss the next clue. I took a couple of steps farther into the forest then began to walk with the field still in sight on one side of me. I needed to know where open space was.

Movement, sound, and sensation began to blur. I thought I heard something, thought I saw something. Thought I felt the presence of someone else nearby, of eyes on me, but when
I stopped there was nothing but the aural memory of my own footsteps in the forest. I stood unmoving, barely breathing, waiting for the next hint until I surprised myself by becoming scared in earnest. Rather than call out, I started to make my way back toward the field until I heard him again. “Prinnncesss.” This time, the word was whispered from close by and when I spun around I could see Gabe running away from me. I let out a call like a laugh and a gulp at once and ran to follow. He darted around trees and cut a crooked, narrow trail in front of me. I was close. Branches were still springing back from his passage and I had to keep my arms up to shield my face.

Avoiding a large branch, I ducked, swerved, and slipped. When I struggled up out of the snow, he was gone. I laughed, then stopped, listened and again there was nothing. I looked around. Nothing but the cross-stitching of dense young trees. I could no longer see the field. We were deep enough into the forest that the trees were creating their own warmth. I could hear melting snow drip from needles, chunks of it slide from trees, the shifting of branches. I wondered what time it was, where Gabe had gone to, and which direction I could take to the road. I reasoned with myself that the farm was small – in any direction I would meet with either field or road. Then I felt something approaching fear.

“Gabe, you asshole!” I yelled. “I’m not your princess and I am definitely not having fun any more.” The words didn’t seem to be carried far before they were absorbed. “Aaahhh!” I shouted, stopped, stomped my feet in the snow, my body getting cold, rigid with fright and anger. I wouldn’t cry. I closed my eyes and turned around then I stopped and walked
in whichever direction I was facing. Field or road, field or road, field or road. I no longer listened for sounds or searched for clues.

He was behind me before I heard him. He circled my waist and turned me around. I was about to yell into his face but he clamped one gloved hand over my mouth. His other arm roped around me, pushing me back into a tree. He held me like that for a moment, looked into my eyes without speaking, his own irises black in the lack of light. I held myself stiff but didn’t struggle. He loosened the arm around my waist, drew it out from behind me slowly, his hand moving along my side, my neck, the scarf now hanging loose, my jaw. When his hand reached my cheek, Gabe slid his other hand off my mouth equally slowly until both were holding my face and I was looking at him. We stood like that, me trying to glower at Gabe, Gabe staring at me.

“So, you’re not my princess, hmm?”

“No, I’m not – but you still have to get me back before midnight.”

Gabe moved his hands with the same slow precision, off my cheeks, along jaw, neck, shoulders, down each arm until he reached my wrists and pulled them back, around the tree, pressing his chest and thighs against me as he did. I could hear my heart in my ears. I moved up toward Gabe’s mouth, up out of the confined space between chest and trunk, toward air. I found his face, his lips moving back to my ear and biting me lightly. Gabe continued to hold my arms tight against the tree. I struggled then found his mouth, met him there. Heat and moisture and teeth against teeth. I waited until everything
loosened – his hands around my wrists, his thighs against mine – until everything, our two bodies, the tree, the ground became liquid then I took his bottom lip in my own and sucked until Gabe let out a small sound from his throat. Then, I bit down into his lips and I tasted salt.

I slipped out from between Gabe and the tree, moved away from him as he came toward me. I felt no anger but the remnants of fear, and this mixed with a prickly heat between my legs, my chest and throat throbbing, the feeling of pins and needles along my neck. Gabe wiped his mouth and laughed, took my hand.