Alpine

Gambit 2 - Spiral

I dashed back downstairs, whimpering "No, no, no, no!" I threw open the door, stepped onto the slick snow, and crashed to the ground. I crawled forward as I got up, ignoring my skinned knees, still chanting "no." The car was nowhere in sight, but maybe that was just because it was dark. I had to believe that was the case. I ran up the snow ramp. Nothing but tire tracks and a trough where the car had plowed through. I felt the tears stinging at my eyes, freezing in place. Then I heard the muffled swearing and slowed.

In a daze, I trotted along the tracks until I heard the car engine revenging. I saw taillights peeping up through the snow. The car looked like a mole scurrying into its tunnel. He repeatedly hit the accelerator, spinning the car's wheels impotently. I walked back to the cabin and tossed my duffle bag inside. It knocked over the coat tree.

I retrieved the flashlight and then the shovel. I slogged back to the car and started digging a trench to get him out. When he managed to open the door, I stumbled back, using the shovel as a crutch.

He stepped out of the car and got right in my face. "Give me the shovel."

"You're joking."

"No."

"You're buried."

"I already dug the car out once."

"The car was on solid ground then! It's swimming."

"SHOVEL. NOW." I relinquished it. He had barely turned around before he started hurling heavy chunks of snow back at me. Dodging to the side, I limply held the flashlight in his general direction. I doubt the light helped any. He dug into snow without rhyme or reason, swearing between each load.

By the time he finally threw the shovel aside with a roar of powerless rage, the snowbank was pitted like a sponge. Almost none of the car's cream color was visible. His ragged pants of frigid air gave to a coughing fit that shook his form. I turned off the flashlight, so I would not have to watch.

When his breathing slowed to a desperate hissing, I said, "I'm going back to the cabin. Do you want the flashlight?" He said nothing, but the harsh breathing abruptly stopped. Maybe he had forgotten I was standing there, and my words reminded him of his audience. I timidly reached towards him to place the flashlight on the ground by his feet before I made my way back inside alone.

It took an hour for him to finally join me. I spent that time sitting at the kitchen's breakfast bar, staring at the back wall as I nervously fidgeted with a cup of expired instant coffee. There is a good chance I never drank any of the chunky, foul-smelling mud, but the heat felt good on my hands. He opened the door and let it close roughly. Either he slammed it or the wind had picked up again. My gaze was fixed on my mug, so I had no way to tell. A soggy clunking as his shoes dropped onto the floor. Without them, he walked silently. I could not track his movements. It startled me when his hand snaked between my hands to snatch the mug.

He said, "That's mine."

After dragging a bar stool to the other side of the counter, he sat down where he could stare directly at me. He took a long drink of bad, lukewarm coffee. His lips curled back in honest disgust as he put the mug down.

The thought crossed my mind to make a joke about needing more cream and sugar. "I could have made you a fresh cup. It still would have been shit, but at least it would have been fresh, warm shit."

"I think the way you would describe it is: 'it was the principle of the thing.'" His tone was flat but smooth. No traces of the rage from earlier.

"I don't get it."

He tapped on the mug's rim. "This. This is mine. It's not your place to use it."

"They all looked the same to me. Sorry."