I'm afraid of closed doors. If I open it, will there be anything behind it, or will it just be some dark abyss. A place completely void of light. Walls with nothing on them. No warmth, no air flow.
I find myself opening doors, checking behind them, just to make sure that there is something, anything: a waterheater, a toyroom, a bathroom, a bedroom, a washing machine, anything, just some type of comfort.
I'm afraid of water.
I'm afraid of ice.
I'm afraid of falling through, and being trapped under it.
That's what happened to Mila.
We were at White Lake, just hiking around it in the winter. It's a pretty place, cold, but pretty. Not too many people go up there in the winter.
Mila thought it would be fun to go out onto the lake.
I was very hesitant. She kept calling for me to come out. I was scared. The ice should have been thick enough, it was february in the high mountains of Washington, we were on our way to Utah, thought we might visit our families for Christmas--we decided to take the long way, down the usual route, from anchorage to fairbanks, down to Calgary, and into the U.S. through Montana, but then we cut across over Idaho, and Into Washington, we were going to drive the coast till we hit Empiral Beach and then cut up to Corona and drop by my uncles house, then straight up through Vegas, St. George, and to Highland, Utah--But then Mila broke through the ice of White Lake.
There wasn't a crack, there wasn't any warning,
she turned around and laughed "If I fall through, will you save me?"
then she took a step back,
and was gone,
hit her head on the way d
o
w
n
I ran out,
shoved
my arm
into the water,
I couldn't find her.
I was too afraid to
jump in.
I was a coward,
a god damn coward.
Mila probably floated under the ice, and just stayed there, face pressed against the ice, till her lungs filled up with water and sank. I could have probably saved her. But I didn't. Instead I just sat there crying, hoping that I too would fall into the ice.
A couple of ice fishermen had seen what had happened. They radioed for a ranger.
Great combination of poetry and story. The transition was seamless.
ReplyDeleteI don't know Mila, but I care. And I don't usually care about stories I read on blogs (because I don't usually read the really long ones and the short ones don't offer enough time to care). But I cared about Mila. That's an accomplishment.
My favorite line is the one about looking behind closed doors. For something. For anything. For comfort.
Thanks.
ReplyDeleteRead "House of Leaves" by Mark Z. Daniellewiski (or something like that) and you'll understand the whole dark and looking behind doors thing.
so so so good.
ReplyDeleteThanks Nom.
ReplyDelete"Instead I just sat there crying, hoping that I too would fall into the ice."
ReplyDeleteThis line is beautiful. Stealing it.
I loved the part about the dark swallowing you and never being able to find your way out. I have a character like that in the novel i wrote. With him, it's literal. It was cool writing the scene where the shadows literally come up and swallow him into them.
ReplyDelete~~~~~~
Anyway, stealing that bit for the journal.
If I fall through, will you save me?
ReplyDeleteI'm stealing this.
This is so fantastic. I am expecting a post a day. just kidding. but really.
ReplyDeleteThis made me feel so cold. But in a good way.
ReplyDeleteA couple of ice fishermen had seen what had happened. They radioed for a ranger.
ReplyDeletewhat a perfect ending, you genius, you.
Thanks guys. Much obligied.
ReplyDeleteand I'd love to read what you've made out of the lines you've stolen.