It Is Very Cold Up Here

ORCHARD PRESS MYSTERIES, SHORT FICTION & POETRY

August 25, 2007

It Is Very Cold Up Here
a short story
by Andrea Hera Cook

That’s what I said first thing in the morning when we got up to the top of the ski resort. I remember well, because I drank the last sip of lukewarm tea out of my thermos cup and wondered how quick the temperature has dropped outside. I had no idea at that time how cold it was really going to get after the sun went down. The sky was crispy dark blue first, turned into ink with the same speed the wind started to pick up. The soft snow became mean ice, hit my face and stung me like tiny needles. They stuck to my skin after that, did not let the pain go away. They hit, sting, pull out, and stick around to keep the pain. That is what they do. Snow storms. I want to call it a blizzard, but if I admit that to myself, I might have to consider the fact that I will never make it back to the shack I left behind with the rising sun.

I have never been a good skier. I am crazy enough to climb up to the top of the peak carrying the skis on my shoulders and trying to weight myself on the sticks holding in front of me. I am encouraged by my Irish friends. They took off way before I was even half way up the hill. I watched them sliding down on skis, some of them on snowboards, their eyes showing no fear. Sure, I can do that. No problem. I have the guts. After I looked down ahead of me, my heart started to beat very fast and I totally forgot how beautiful it was being on the top of the world, looking down at Lake Tahoe.

All I could think about was how much I am not ready for this. It was not about having a good time anymore. Not on the top of Squaw Valley. It was about skills, experience, knowledge of the mountain, recognition of the snow. I had none of that. I’m Hungarian and I live in Florida. What do I know about riding the mountain that was the home of the ’96 Ski Olympics.

You guys go ahead. I’ll be right behind you. It has been many hours I have said that. I lost track of time half way down the first hill. I fell down a few times and twisted my leg. First I twisted my ankle, then my knees. I took the skis off and pushed them down if front of me. I slid down on my ass for a while, but it gave me the ultimate experience of taking a bath in snow. It was no fun. The ice on my back and inside my gloves was painfully cold. It got to my bones and started to melt on my joints. I was cold inside out. I was holding onto a rock, trying to manage my next step downward towards the hill, when the rock let loose and let me slide to the side of the cliff, facing the depth of eternity. I screamed a little, a short, desperate one, but my instinct knew that I didn’t have more time for a big scene.

I had to do something quick. I grabbed one of my skis, the one closer to my hands and pushed it into the snow under my body to get a grip. I pushed myself rolling over to the other side, just in time before the ski let go and slipped out from underneath me falling into the depth. This time I scream long and painful. That could have been me. That piece of ski just saved my life. I started to cry and enjoy it physically for a moment, the warmness on my face felt nice. Only until it rolled down on my neck and turned into ice drops just in time to reach my arteries.

I don’t know for how long I did not move. It could have been moments or hours when I just sat there holding on to my one piece of ski and looking into the blue sky. At this moment they must have been looking for me, I thought. They must have been searching quite a while for me, but I know they will never come up here. This is one of a kind, a peak that my friends picked out on the map this morning while we had breakfast at the house, warming up the equipment around the fireplace and getting ready for the first day of skiing. This is the mission, the challenge for us to take today.

Our plan was to take the ski lift all the way to the top, and after that climb northwest for half a mile to reach that peak–3950 meters high–where we are supposed to face Lake Tahoe. We wanted to take the journey nobody has taken before, ride the virgin peak, the wild mountains covered by Mother Nature’s gift: glaciers. So we did it. All of us did, even me. But I never made it back. Not at this point anyway. I’m still up here. The ski guards are searching the roads on the ski maps. By the time my friends get scared enough to admit to them that actually we went off the map on purpose and I’m somewhere on the other side of the mountain, it will probably be too dark to come after me.

I bet my friends did want to come and find me, all of them. But the ski lifts must have been closed down by then, 4pm, and they had no access to come back up to the top. The guards probably assured them that they will keep searching for me first thing in the morning, but they can’t risk somebody else’s life in the dark, skiing wild mountains after me. I feel pretty confident, that I can make it through the night, no matter what. I’m a tough girl, strong, plenty meat and muscle on me. I gave up smoking years ago and I cut back on drinking too.

Damn, I wish I had a nice shot of Grand Marnier, just to warm me up. Who am I kidding? I could kill for any alcohol right now, to ease my pain and the shivering all over my body.

At this point I have no idea what time it is, or is it still the same day, or past midnight. My body is very dry and starting to freeze. My fingers and toes are numb. My joints and bones hurt; I can’t feel the muscles, so they don’t bother me. I have not opened my mouth for a very long time; I can’t even do it now, it’s too late. I try to breathe through my nose, but it burns and is getting frosty inside it.

My mind is blocking down; I don’t think that I am going to make it anymore. I doubt it, that my friends will look for me. I was such a bitch ever since we drove up here to the mountains. Probably they are better off without me. I gave a hard time to everybody in the van all the way up here from San Francisco. I complained about the music to Ian, the poor guy who was driving us, about the color of my ski boots to my friend Clinton, who borrowed them for me, about the traffic to everyone who could hear me.

When we arrived at this adorable ski-shack with six bedrooms I bitched about my guest room not having a separate bath in it, about the fireplace not warming up the living room enough. I criticized the Polish couple’s homemade dish for dinner on the very first night. I told my friend who is deeply in love with me, that we are never going to happen…. He is not enough for me… I pictured them sitting around the fireplace, covered with blankets, drinking hot tea with rum, playing on the guitar, singing songs and laughing about the fun day they had, without me. I started to cry, but only my soul, my body was frozen.

I passed out at some point after that, and when I woke up it was very warm around me. It was a place I had never been before. It was sunny and peaceful. I looked around and everyone was smiling at me. I felt like I knew these people, but I couldn’t remember from where. I looked down at my body and I still wore my ski suit, but it was dry and warm now and had no weight to it. The cold and the snow were gone. All of a sudden I knew I won’t be going skiing anymore, but it was okay. It didn’t bother me anymore. I didn’t know where I had just gotten, but I like it a lot. Period.

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