Inconsequential
He clears his throat, stretches, rubs what’s left of the hair on his head and then slowly rises to a sitting position and swings his legs to the floor. He pushes himself off the bed and waddles, stiff knees and hips to the bathroom. The pees keep getting longer and slower. His head is pounding. He arches his back in an attempt to get his body to line up straight. It doesn’t work. He shuffles from the bathroom, through the family room and into the cottage’s tiny kitchen.
Along the way he observes Johnny, asleep (passed out) and snoring loudly on the sofa.
“Best to put the coffee on,” he thought to himself.
He eyeballs the coffee grinds into the percolator and fills it with water. He tries to turn on cooktop but the pilot light is out, so he rummages around for a match and lights the stove and puts the kettle on to boil. Again he rubs his head and searches for some aspirin, throwing a few in his mouth to chew, the bitter taste turns on a switch in his brain and the fog begins to clear.
Looking out from the tiny kitchen window, everything is covered in a blanket of snow and ice, the tiny lake looks like glass and the landscape, particularly the trees, appear still and quiet. He shuffles back to the bedroom to get dressed, a walk will do him good and help him clear his head even further.
After donning his underwear and longjohns, he starts to layer with a flannel shirt and sweater, then his jeans and boots. He washes his face and brushes his teeth, ignoring the growth on his face. After all he’s taking a few days off. Then he heads back to the kitchen for coffee, johnny still dead to the world. The kitchen has now come into focus. Straight from the fifties and practically untouched, the white woodwork, old sink and dinette set were charming as were the curtains at the window. He reflected on how he got here.
Toward the end of the week he had this idea of coming out to the lake cottage of a friend to get away from his life (as if it were that easy, how old was he?), but he hates being alone and will go to great lengths to avoid it so he invited Johnny to go with him. Johnny was always game for a good drunk at someone else’s expense and predictably, agreed to spend the weekend. After all, misery loves company.
Back in the kitchen, he poured a large cup of coffee and sat by the window to observe nature. He didn’t have to wait for long, as a mother deer and her baby came sniffing by, looking for tender greens. Of course, the squirrels are always with us, he mused, they’ll probably survive long after we humans kill the planet. No birds, he thought — a feeder would be great out here but there’s no one to maintain it, so what’s the point?
He slugged the first cup down just to get the caffeine and aspirin combining quickly, anything to lessen the pounding in his head. They drank spiced rum last night, all of it and now, in addition to his head, his stomach was rebelling from all the acid buildup — the aspirin and coffee didn’t help. So he went in search of antacid and then another cup of coffee.
He decided not to wake Johnny. He’d only be gone a little while and it looked like the weather would be turning again so he wanted to get out and back. Not only did he want to walk off last night, but they needed firewood for the stove in the family room. So on went the hat, gloves, scarf and winter coat and he quietly slipped out the back door.
He breathed deeply. The air was so cold it was painful. He covered his mouth with his scarf and his glasses immediately fogged up and his nose began to run. The wind was kicking up, sending the temperature down. He walked slowly over to the wood pile — better stack some up by the back door — no one is gonna want to come out in this. A few trips and there was a couple days worth of wood stacked neatly by the back door.
The snow was coming down at a pretty good clip now and the wind blowing caused drifting in certain areas. He had promised his friend that he would make sure that everything was secured and covered down by the lake, so he set off in that direction. He braced himself against the wind and kept his head down, looking up only to orient himself to the lake. By the time he got down to the dock, his face was stinging and he had to continually wipe off his glasses. He looked around and found everything covered or anchored.
He stood for a moment looking out over the lake and thought about his ex-wife. She would have loved this place. It was a painful acknowledgement. He didn’t like thinking about her. He preferred staying angry when it came to the subject of her. So much so that it surprised him when such a positive thought of her popped into his head. He noticed the wind was dying down, a lull in the winter action.
He looked around him and struck off in the direction of a grove of trees flanking the cottage. He wanted to take advantage of the quieting weather, if only for a little while. As he stomped into the wooded area he became acutely aware of the silence with only the sound of his boots crunching underfoot to break the stillness of the grove. He was uncomfortable and began talking to himself out loud.
“let’s see what we have out here…any wildlife to speak of? no? how about tracks or nests or boroughs? anything?”
He began to think about the last conversation he had with his daughter.
“How about lunch?” he had asked. She was very busy right now, she had replied.
“Too busy to grab a bite to eat with your old man?” he replied.
He was met with silence on the other end. He got the same treatment from his son as well. He begrudgingly acknowledges that the tension between them was due to his behavior, but come on, how long were they going to last? It would seem that he didn’t feel the need to make amends. They’ll come around eventually, he reasoned.
He began to shiver as pushed away the pine needles from his face, walking deeper into the grove. It was so dense, all he could see were the evergreens, one after another. The smell was intoxicating and he breathed deeply again. Now there were only traces of the headache he had woken up with. As he wanders he notices the sound of the snow underfoot has changed, crunch has turned to more a crackle but it’s difficult to look down what with his foggy glasses and all the layers and scarves. But he rubs his glasses with his scarf and makes an effort to bend over.
He realizes, too late, that he’s actually walking on ice. There are areas around the lake that sit fairly low and often flood. Such was the case where he had wandered. As the ice began to give way, he began to slip. One foot/boot broke through while the other slipped. He went down with a thud on his butt. The water wasn’t deep, maybe a foot or so, but the icy cold came pouring into his boot and he winced.
He pulled himself out of the hole and turned himself over so that he was on all fours and slowly pushed himself up into a standing position. Time to head back.
He looked around trying to orient himself. With the blowing snow it was difficult to see any foot prints he had made. He began to retrace his steps. He noted he could not really feel his right leg. As he made his way through the evergreens, his shivering grew worse. He did not register the warning sign, but pressed on. He was really working up a sweat in his effort to quickly get back to the cottage.
Was it this way? he wondered. Should I go back to the lake and walk the shoreline? Which way was the lake from here again? he felt confused. He stopped and took a deep breath trying to determine the best course of action. He looked up and recognized a tree. Ahhh, this is the way I walked in. And he pressed on, a little more slowly. Now he was getting hot and uncomfortable.
“Shouldn’t I be at the cottage by now? how long have I been walking, surely this grove will clear and I’ll see the smoke from the chimney?” he thought.
He was really working up a sweat he thought. He took off his scarf and hat to let some heat escape. That felt so much better.
“Just through those trees, I’m sure of it.” And yet more trees. “Isn’t that the deer I saw earlier? Didn’t we have a cup of coffee together? That’s right, she’ll lead me home. Home to Jenny. I’ve got to get back, she’s waiting for me. We’re going to play chess and discuss wedding plans. She’s marrying a great guy. They’ve been together a while now and I’m going to give her away!”
He began to stumble and his breath was getting shorter and shallow.
“Why is it so hot?” he muttered.
“Dad!” he heard someone shouting. “Dad!”
He whipped around, disoriented, looking for Michael. “Michael?” he called back. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“Dad!” came the voice again. “Help me!”
He began stumbling toward the voice. “I’m coming! Hold on!”
He tripped and fell into the snow. He pushed himself up onto his knees.
“Where am I?” he wondered. “I’m so tired and so hot.” He tried to breathe deeply. No can do.
He unzipped his jacket. The wind was whipping again and snow was coming down just as before, making it difficult to see.
“Where is everyone?” he wondered. He could not get enough air and everything felt so tight around him. He unbuttoned his shirt.
“I wonder what’s for dinner.”
He sat back on his heels and thought about his grades.
“I don’t know if I’m going to make it into med school, if I can’t improve my average. I need to go talk to Professor Gilkey to see if there’s anything I can do about my chemistry grade, that might just be enough to make a difference.”
He looked up and tried to take another deep breath again. Again, too painful.
“I’m just going to lie down here for a minute to catch my breath. I’m so tired.”
He drifted in his thoughts, complaining to his mom about his brother Joe breaking his favorite toy, his Dad never being there, meeting Heather for the first time and knowing that she was the one.
By now, the wind and the snow were so dense, it was practically a white out. He decided to sleep for a little while.
