The Sudden Weight of Snow (32 page)

I would understand, when I tried to piece together the night later, that Thomas was the person who walked me back to the shed. I thought I would be all right then. The fresh air entering my lungs reminded me of how it would feel to be sober, clean. I was sure sleep would come quickly and that when I woke everything would be back to normal but when I saw Krista’s boyfriend, Mike, swaying and obviously drunk in the yard between the cookshack and shed, my mind skipped, tried to find a reference point. Behind him Rob Hanshaw bounced from leg to leg, spat into the dirt. I was confused, things colliding in my mind. Mike and Krista in the schoolyard the night after the party in November. My neck in the vice of Rob Hanshaw’s arm in his truck. I pulled away from Thomas then reached back for him at once. As I did, Mike approached me, his words coming as though from different directions.

“Sylvia Harper. If it isn’t sweet Sylvia Harper.”

“Harper, this a friend of yours?” Thomas asked.

“Who the hell is this?” Mike said, pointing at Thomas with his chin.

Instead of answering I said, “I’ll go find Krista,” and moved away from all of them. “I’ll go find Krista,” I said again as though this was a reassurance, for myself or someone else.

“Why don’t we all go try to find Krista, shall we?” Mike said. “It’ll be a little game, eh, Hanshaw?” Rob Hanshaw didn’t say anything, just stood behind Mike with his hands in his pockets, smirking. Thomas turned and made a motion with his head for me to follow. When we were on the front veranda, Mike got hold of my arm and snapped me back towards him.
He and Rob stood watching my reaction, laughing. Thomas had just gone in.

“Stoned, Harper?” Mike asked. He had his lighter out, flared it in front of my face. “Seeing lights?”

Then, with Mike still holding my arm, Rob Hanshaw leaned in. “Know what I’d like to do to you?” he asked. When I stared back at him, Rob continued, “I’d like to go down on you when you’re on the rag, suck up all that blood, and then spit it back into your mouth.”

I tried to hold my stare, to have them believe I wasn’t intimidated, but Mike let go of me and I fell back. As they laughed, I stumbled up the steps to the porch and into the building. I wanted desperately to be sober again. To be safe. It would be all right, I told myself, all I had to do was find Krista. She’d know what to do. It would be all right. I pushed my way through the hall into the kitchen and found her. She was coming in the back door with Gabe, their cheeks taut, glazed with fresh air.

I looked at Gabe quickly then gripped Krista’s forearm and said, “Mike’s here.” My hand shook as I did.

“What?” both she and Gabe said at once, then Krista continued, “Oh, God, I didn’t think he would come. I bet he’s drunk. Shit.” I was still shaking, wanting to collapse against something or someone but Krista and Gabe were already moving out of the kitchen and back through the cookshack. When I got to the front porch, I could hear Mike before I could see anyone else.

“You slut. What did you think you were doing – you think I wouldn’t figure out what you were doing?”

“No, Mike, I –”

Mike motioned toward Gabe. “And, what, everyone shares everyone out here? Bunch of fucking freaks.”

I stopped in the door frame and watched the porch like a stage. Things seemed to move in slow motion. Mike’s mouth gaping then clamping shut, the words coming out fast, his face twisting around them. Rob Hanshaw beside him, scowling and shifting his weight from heels to balls of feet, arms and hands twitching. Krista recoiling from Mike’s words, her head turning from side to side, red curls bobbing and springing in a way that seemed almost cheerful, inappropriate. I lost focus when my eyes found Gabe. He seemed less defined, a blur of colour and shifting texture, as though I couldn’t quite place him in the surroundings. I stepped out onto the porch in an attempt to get things into focus, people gathering behind me, pressing.

Mike caught one of Krista’s wrists, held it stiff between them as though wielding a weapon against her. That was when things sped up. I moved quickly and somehow I got her away from Mike. Thomas came between Krista and me and the guys, telling them in a slow, controlled voice that they should leave. Mike stood, fists clenching and unclenching, releasing his breath in short, violent bursts, and stared around Thomas at Krista. “Come on, let’s just move along,” Thomas said again.

“Come on? Move along?” Mike said, shifting his gaze until it was directly on Thomas. “You think you’ve got it made out here, eh? While the rest of us are out working, busting our asses, you can just sit back, watch your weed grow, living off pogey. And now you’ve got these sweet teenage girls to pass
around. Share and share alike, right? Can you even get it up, you old hippie? You scared we’re going to take them away from you, huh?”

That’s when Gabe lunged at him, knocking us aside as he did. Thomas tried unsuccessfully to hold him back. The rest of us stood as though paralyzed. In the light of the cookshack, it was Gabe’s face that I watched, the set of his jaw, twist of his mouth. Somehow, those hostile expressions looked natural on Mike. Seeing them on Gabe frightened me. I closed my eyes and heard boots against wood, fists against fabric, then air expelled, guttural sounds bursting from chests, throats. When I opened my eyes, I saw blood on Gabe’s face. “Stop!” I yelled, still holding Krista, who was struggling out of my grip. “Stop!”

Krista tore away from me and stood in front of Gabe and Mike, small movements betraying the conflict within her – as though she were lurching forward and holding back at once. The guys had paused and were staring each other down, transferring their weight, hands pumping fists, each waiting for the other to strike. As Gabe glared at Mike, it was as though all thought and emotion were wiped away, his expression revealing only an instinct, a need. And in this, I saw something familiar. I had seen the same thing happen to his eyes when we had sex – in that moment right before he came, an instant when his eyes were wiped of recognition, his need fierce, sharp and anonymous. Gabe struck out again, and I felt nauseated. Mike dodged him and Krista moved between the two of them, arms held out as though to protect herself, wild panic and anger across her face. She turned to Mike and yelled, “You bastard! Get out of here!”

Gabe and Mike stood mirroring each other, shaking the men off, still staring each other down. Their stances began to slacken slightly – breath slowing, shoulders and hands loosening – but they seemed intent on holding their hard gaze. It was Gabe who broke it, turning abruptly and pushing people out of the way as he went back into the building.

“Come on, Hanshaw,” Mike said when he did. “Let’s go. These people aren’t worth our time.” He stopped at the top of the steps, turned to Krista and said, “I’ll leave your diaphragm at the end of my driveway. With the trash,” and walked down the stairs. Rob Hanshaw cocked his head, looked at me, spat once on the porch and followed.

Krista and I were against the railing, holding each other. Ordinary things – the banister, steps – started coming into focus, blunt and heavy. My throat felt raw. I could feel Krista shaking in my hold. “Bastard!” she yelled out again. I wasn’t sure if it was intended to reach Mike or if it was simply a statement.

Thomas came through the crowd, stopped and turned, said loudly to the people around us, “Would you clear out of here? Come on already.” With a few more glances in our direction, everyone filed into the building or moved to the other end of the porch, lit cigarettes, tried not to look at us.

I pulled away from Krista and asked, “You okay?”

Krista nodded and swallowed. She said quietly, “I just want to go home. Can I get a ride home?”

“Of course you can,” I said.

“Where’s Gabe?” asked Thomas.

“He went inside,” I said. “I’ll go look for him.” I looked at Krista, ran my hand over her hair and asked, “Will you be okay
for a sec?” When she nodded, I turned back into the cookshack. The party had begun to die down. I asked people if they had seen Gabe, but no one had. He must have gone out another door. I was drawn through the building and out the back to the edge of the field, as though it were a magnet and I was a piece of something hard, metal. I clung to stretches of wire between barbs, listened to the sound of the wind. The field stretched from white to grey to black.

The effects of the drug reared up again. I went back into the cookshack but couldn’t find either Gabe or Krista. I was alone and the world was jumping, sounds and images all flowing into one stream, everything becoming a buzzing in my ears. I sat down against the wall and pulled my knees to my chest, wrapped my arms around them to stop the movement but my own shaking wouldn’t cease. There is a space here in my memory, a missing piece. Someone found me there, stopped the shaking. I remember being put to bed, the blankets smoothed tight under my chin.
Shh
. That sound again. I don’t know who put me there.
Shh
. The sound of sleep.

I dropped into slumber quickly and was pulled out just as abruptly by yelling, growling engines, tires in the yard, sirens coming from somewhere. I battled the blankets and reached for Gabe to ask what was happening but realized that he wasn’t there. The yelling wouldn’t stop. It was joined by what sounded like commands and another sound, like wind, roaring wind. I sat up against the wall, pulling the blankets around me.
“Gabe?” I called out, knowing no one would hear me. The wail of sirens was getting louder, coming closer. I reached under the blankets to feel my body, ran my hands over each limb – they felt normal, fine. I decided I was no longer stoned. Someone had dressed me in long underwear and wool socks before putting me to bed.

The sirens advanced, the shouting continued. The fact of Gabe’s absence seemed more frightening than whatever was going on outside, or as if it was a cause of it. I heard a sound like the sky snapping, things cracking. I pulled myself out of bed and groped for clothes I could put on, for things I could hold in the spinning room. I pulled on jeans, sweaters, boots, and reached for my coat on a hook at the door. I held it for a moment with both hands, pressed my forehead to the wall, which was surprisingly hot, then moved again. I knew that I had to get out. I knew too that there was a fire and that I had been forgotten – that someone had brought me back to the shed and put me to bed and then hadn’t come back for me. I opened the door and then stood against the shed as a fire truck roared into the farmyard. Without moving, I watched firefighters run at the flames that jumped and rose around the cookshack and sauna, pulling hoses with them. I tried to lay my body flat against the wall, tried to become part of something solid and standing, and heard the roar of the heat that coated me.

As I watched, the fire seemed to be moving from the back of the building to the front. I could see through the two huge front windows that the kitchen was gone, a wall of flames. As the fire moved forward, I could see the wood stove, tables, couches. Things became black forms against shades of red.
The heat was too much and I was too close. I knew this, but felt unable to move. Firefighters were flooding the back of the building when the two front windows burst out of their frames. With the sound of shattering glass, I ducked.

It was as though the fire had taken a giant gulp of air. When I raised my head again, I couldn’t see any more shapes, only flames, and I watched as one rode the wire between cookshack and shed, the wire Gabe had hooked up for the phone we never installed. The flame hit a tree between me and the building and began consuming branches. A firefighter doused the tree before the flames spread, the spray from his hose loud and violent. I remained immobilized, my body reacting to the fire and my fear with momentary paralysis. That was when the firefighter saw me. “What in God’s name are you doing!” he yelled. “Get out of here – you have to go!” He pointed his finger behind me. When I turned, I could see people in the farmyard, all moving toward the field where the cars were parked. Some ran, hands over mouths. Others reminded me of people coming out of the arena after a game, as though there was no huge rush but no reason to hang around longer either.

I searched for Gabe’s figure among the group, wrapped my arms around my chest and ran towards them, coughing up smoke. Susan went by at a kind of slow jog, then stopped and backed up when she saw me. “My God, Harper, you’re still here? We have to go. They’re clearing us out of here.”

“Where’s Gabe –? Have you seen Gabe?”

“Yes, he’s fine. Come on, we have
got
to go.”

“What about Krista, do you know about Krista?” My words raced with my mind. “Maybe we can wait for them. The
fire’s almost out. Look.” I turned and saw the black outlines of men against the dying fire, smoke. The cookshack was nearly gone, a skeleton of what had stood there before, the remaining frame buckling with the force of water blasted at it. I couldn’t understand how the place where we had gathered together a few hours before, the heart of the farm, was simply gone. The centre charred.

Susan sighed heavily, turned to walk briskly toward the field where trucks and cars had been parked. There were only few vehicles left and they sat revving engines, doors open while people yelled out. “Harper,” she shouted over her shoulder. “There’s no time for this now. Gabe will catch up with us. We have to go.” I turned one last time to look at the fire. What remained was mostly smoke, some struggling flames being choked out. How odd, I thought, that something that had likely begun with one careless action had taken so much effort to stop.