The story continues...
The wind whipped across the snow covered landscape, leading Grant to wish he had grabbed a larger jacket, and perhaps a scarf, as he angrily left his mother’s house. He was so hot with anger at the time that it hadn’t occurred to him that it was below freezing outside. Leaning over the old wooden fence, he looked down at the stream, now frozen in time, dirt and leaves suspended in a forest stew until the spring thaw, a smile flirted with the corners of his mouth. Despite his anger, an image of childhood emerged; a pleasant memory that he couldn’t help recalling, even as he grasped at the edges of his uncomfortable wool sweater for warmth.
He was 10, and his little sister, Ashley, was 7. When they were children, they were the best of friends. The two were still close now, in adulthood, but nothing like the relationship they shared back then. He was Ashley’s only brother, and she was Grant’s only sister. They were inseparable, especially when the kids at school made fun of them for having no daddy. Sure, they had no daddy, but they had each other.
Running and giggling, they bounded towards the river, the high grass tickling their bare legs and toes through their sandal clad feet. In truth, it wasn’t really a river, but more of a creek, but it was deep enough to do some rudimentary fishing and to root around in the mud for snails. This particular sunny afternoon, the two siblings were going to fish, but there was a new added bonus that Ashley was particularly excited about: Her big brother was going to teach her to skip rocks. She had always seen it done in the movies, and she witnessed her brother do it on occasion like a magician pulling a bouquet of flowers from his shirt sleeve, so she timidly asked if she could learn.
Of course Grant had agreed to bestow his little sister with his worldly knowledge of rock skipping, and after they grabbed a pole and some bait, they ran off with barely a waive goodbye to their mother, who just shook her head with a smile and continued to prepare dinner.
“Wait for me!” Ashley cried through her laughter as she struggled to keep up with her big brother. “Wait up!”
Still running, Grant turned back momentarily and barked back, “Gotta keep up with the big guns, Ash-hole!”
Finally, they came upon the stream, babbling softly despite the breezy day. Grant got his fishing pole ready, but Ashley knocked it to the ground impatiently, sporting a mischievous grin. “No! You must teach me first.”
Grant raised an eyebrow in faux incomprehension. “Teach? Teach you what, grasshopper?”
She hit his shoulder and giggled. “You know! Skipping rocks!”
“Oh!” He hit his head and crossed his eyes, making Ashley roar with laughter once again. “That! Duh, sorry.” He put his forefinger up to his lips and Ashley’s laughter stopped abruptly. “First,” he said in a whisper. “You must find some flat, smooth rocks.” He looked around and quickly found an example. He held it up in front of her face. “Like this. Go!”
She ran off, grinning ear to ear, trying with all of her might not to burst from excitement. Grant crossed his arms in front of his chest, feeling proud of himself, but he felt even more proud of his little sister. He was glad to help her, even if he did give her a hard time in the process. What did she expect, that was his job as big brother. He turned and faced the water, no more than 15 feet deep in the middle, and perhaps 50 feet wide. Weeping willows lined both the north and south banks, which provided a nice shade and a perfect overhang which acted as his own personal retreat. He was perfectly content in thinking that no other kids had called this place their own, and thus he dubbed it in his mind Camp Grant. He liked the ring that had...
“Grant!” A tiny voice called from about 10 feet to his left and closing, interrupting his daydream. “Grant, I found nine! Is nine enough?”
“Yes it is, little partner, now come back over here!” She ran with all of her might through the thick sand coated with river rocks and sticks. Ashley’s dishwater blonde hair was now slightly stuck to the sides of her face from sweat and river water. Her grin was still as big as ever.
As she looked up at him with intense interest, he began his lesson. “Okay, so you know how to toss a frisbee, right?”
She nodded, piling all but one of the rocks she had found at her feet. The one she kept she flipped over and over in her fingers absently.
“Good. So, get a good grip on the rock, putting your index finger here and your thumb here...” he placed her fingers carefully on the rock as he spoke “...now lean back and bring your arm back like you’re gonna toss a soft ball, but throw it with the flick of your wrist like a frisbee.” He demonstrated the stance and the throw for her, and the rock skipped clear to the other side of the river.
“Oooh,” Ashley mumbled in awe.
“Now you try it, little girl. Let’s see what you got in that arm of yours.”
She looked up at him, uncertainty strewn across her face, but all it took was one wink from him, and she knew she could do it. Ashley lined up her shot, standing sideways towards the creek, her left hip closest to the water, while her right hand was held behind her, the rock poised in her hand just as Grant had placed it. She swung her arm, and yes! (Grant pumped his fist at her form) flicked her wrist, and by God, the rock skipped. Not as far as Grant’s had, but it skipped three full times. Ashley screamed with joy and jumped up into Grant’s arms. “I did it!! I did it! Can I try it again, please? I won’t take too long, I promise.”
“Of course you can, little partner,” he said, hugging her back. “Skip rocks all day long, I’ll be here.”
Grant now looked over this same body of water, cloaked in snow and sheathed in ice, shivering slightly in the winter air, his breath turning to a fine mist with every breath he let out, and he let himself smile. And why not? What fun they had, and it had all happened in the absence of his father. In the absence of Robert, the low life cab driver from Las Vegas. He had lived this long without him, why was it so important to have him in his life now? Everyone has an invisible pull towards family, but now, his anger subsiding, yet his eyes still burning, he wished he could take out some hedge trimmers and cut the line that held him to Robert.
Deciding to let his mind wander, he leaned up against the fence for awhile longer. Every so often, he could hear the engine of his nearby car popping and creaking as the cold air sucked the life out of the hot metal beneath the hood. As he just existed, he felt like something was changing around him. Like the air was getting heavier, denser, older. Older? Did it smell different? Yes, but how? Like dust? Like... farmland and cattle? Didn’t it always sorta smell like farms and cattle?
Grant shrugged it off and stretched his arms high in the air. The sun was making its slow journey towards the western edge of the sky. He decided he better get going. Perhaps he should go back to make sure his mom was okay. He slowly turned to make his way back to his parked car, the windshield starting to frost over as the evening slowly crept over the landscape, when Grant heard a soft pop. Then a crunch. All at once, a soft pressure squeezed around his ankle.
Tripping, he fell forward, panic drawn across his face. In a reflex reaction to catch himself, he stepped a pace and slipped violently on a patch of ice, cleverly disguised by a thin layer of snow. The pressure around his ankle became as tight as a vice grip, and he was flung backwards, and hit the wooden fence with a whack. A sharp pain shot up his side and down his right arm, as he reached back for something on which to stop his fall. Yet there was nothing there but cold air and a couple snow flakes gently dancing and swaying out of the sky for his fingers to touch. The ancient wood broke with a bitter snap. Arms flailing, a scream escaped his lips, his mind finally realizing what was happening.
Time almost stood still as he fell back, his stomach turning somersaults, a dull ache forming at the front of his skull, his limbs just about hyper-extending themselves in order to find some leverage. A big root, a piece of fence jutting out, a tree branch, anything. Yet, his grasp found nothing, and his arms and legs moved in space. A thought zoomed through his head, wishing a hand would thrust itself at him from the ledge above, like in the movies. Alas, this was no movie, this was real life. And he was plummeting faster than he would have ever recalled towards the dark grey and dull river.
A low thud resonated through the ice as Grant’s body came into contact with the river’s frozen surface. At first, his eyes darted around, realizing he was still alive, he was above the water, breathing, thinking. Beginning to move slowly, he pressed his arms to the ice in order to sit up. That’s when he noticed the water pooling around him, his arms now soaked. His gaze snapped to the ice around him, saw the cracks, heard the cracks. Each crack widened and ran along the length of his body on both sides as fast as lightning bolts. Moaning, the ice shifted, then a lethal crash and before he could take a last gulp of air, he was underwater.
Now, all of his other thoughts were utterly null. Robert was gone. His anger was gone. The memory of he and Ashley playing in this very river was gone. All he could comprehend was how cold it was and that he couldn’t breath. Couldn’t breath. This wasn’t the normal 'you’re tickling me so much I can’t breath' or 'I’m going to plug my nose and jump in the pool'. No. This was 'if I don’t get out of here soon, I will die'. Feet thrashing in an attempt to find the river bed below, and never finding it, he realized quickly he was draining all of his energy in a idiot’s panic. He looked up to see where the had fallen through the ice, but with the oncoming night, he saw nothing but a uniform dark blue and gray curtain of ice. His heart sank and suspended in water he momentarily lost hope. But his spirit wouldn’t let him give up. He remembered the words his mother had said to him not two hours ago: Always such a strong soul. Always such a strong soul. He couldn’t let her down. He was strong, and he would live.
Swimming in the direction he thought was up, his wool sweater now as heavy as lead in the water, he decided to slide his hands along the underside of the ice until he found the hole. It was the only thing he could do to save himself. His hands were numb, but as he floated upwards in this surreal state, they hit resistance. There it is! his mind cheered. He ran his fingers frantically across the slippery underbelly of the beast that might kill him. Solid, perfect, never ending ice. Grant’s head was tilted as far back as it could go so he could look up, the light above fading fast, the color of his world turning to a navy blue. He hoped his world wouldn’t turn to black.
Closing his eyes, his lungs pounding, he resigned himself to death. I didn’t think I’d die like this his mind lamented. But just as he believed he was as good as dead, his searching hand came up through the ice. The hole in the ice. He’d found it, by good god and baby Jesus! Rabidly he clutched at the edges of the hole, slipping easily, but he got his head above water, and tasted sweet air like he had never before with a deep and greedy gasp.
Spitting water and coughing up what had gotten into his lungs in jagged and sharp bursts, he tried as hard as he could to keep a hold on the slippery edge. It was getting dark, and he did not want to go under the surface once more. Crossing his arms and laying his head on them with a sick splat, he began to cry. His life was now in a different perspective. He regretted with all of his heart wasting his life wishing for a dad. He should have been grateful for his life, his wonderful mother, his loving sister, his education, and most of all, his life.
Freezing, he began to wonder how he might drag his heavy, soaked, and rapidly numbing body out of the water. Lifting his head slowly, he looked around the ever dimming world that was even dimmer down in a ravine lined by weeping willows which was this river. Eyes widening, his heart leapt into his throat. Nearby, taunting him, was a large protruding root, like the one he was wishing for during his backwards fall down. Trying not to be too cynical, he rolled his eyes, hoping God wouldn’t notice.
Carefully moving his arms out, and having a time of it, as his arms were numbing and shaking, he slowly got his hand close enough to grab the root. He gave it a small tug, and it seemed stable. That was good news. He wasn’t so sure about his hand. He could still close his fingers around the root, but how tightly he had yet to find out. The cold seeping into his very bones, he began to struggle with his own mind. It told him Oh, what’s the use in trying? Just give up and die with dignity.
“No,” he said to himself, his voice a ghostly whisper, wavering slightly to the rhythm of his shivering. He thrust his other arm out with every ounce of energy he could muster, and got a hold of the root. Contracting his biceps, he began to pull. At first, it did nothing, and he was afraid hypothermia had taken over his body. Yet, a moment later, as he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, his body began to move. He could hear the quiet swishing of the water as he passed through it, and as he pulled his gentle grunts turned into ear piercing screams. Pull damn you, PULL! his brain urged and with that, he propped a knee up on the ice and pushed the rest of his body to the surface.
His wet clothes made a squishing noise as he let his muscles relax a bit. The temperature was dropping by the minute as night fell, and the crunching noise of his clothes beginning to freeze got his attention. If he could make it to the car, he’d be alright. He could turn on the car, crank the heat, and all would be well. The shore was nearby, and he cautiously, slowly crawled towards it. Once his hand hit the mishmash of rocks and sand, he made a twisting and awkward jump towards it, landing on his knees. Feet completely numb, he began to crawl. Grant’s brain was beginning to slow, the cold working its way into the gears and gumming it up. Nevertheless, he could think of one thing: Must get to car. Must get to car.
Like a nearly drowned muskrat, he dragged his limp body up the the riverbank. He grabbed at the snow and muddy leaves with a fervor only a dying man can muster. Eyes drooping, his heart beating shallowly in his chest, he came to the spot in the fence where he fell through. Once he was safely on the parking lot side of the fence, he gave it a dirty look and mumbled, “You bastard.”
He dug around in his pockets for his keys was like sifting through molasses. Grant’s finger had lost much of their dexterity, but he found the fob. Pressing the button that unlocked the doors, his car uttered a hollow thunk and a high pitched beep! to indicate the doors were now ready for entry. Isn’t technology wonderful? Still crawling, he reached up, his arm shaking, grabbed onto the handle and pulled towards himself. With what was left of his strength, he hoisted himself up into the driver’s seat, thrust the key into the ignition, and turned it. The engine roared to life, and if his numb face would have let him smile, he would have. Letting the door close on its own, he rolled over to his side and turned the knob all the way to the right. Full heat. His body tingling, a black veil covered his vision.
Copyright © by Erin M. Truesdale, 2013
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