As Snow Falls

1

"You don't need to climb a mountain to know that it's high."
― Paulo Coelho, Aleph

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The snow falls lightly at first as my little red car weaves its way up the narrow mountain road, a red dot in a sea of white. Dancing down from the sky, the little white clumps twist and twirl in the wind, increase in size and speed the higher I climb. Their consistent thumps against my windscreen juxtapose with the beat of my wipers to create background music for my journey.

I let out a sigh of relief, my warm breath fogging in front of me as I crest the first mountain peak. As much as I love my old red Bentley it has seen better days. With its broken radio and heater that works better as air conditioner, I'd say there's a fifty percent chance I won't make it through these mountains. If I had played it safe, I would have added an extra two hours to my already painstaking three hour journey, two long hours I just couldn't afford. I was already late.

Outside the scenery darkens, anticipating the coming of night. The spruce and sitka trees stand tall and strong on either side of the small road, sentinels protecting their vast forest. A heavy fog creeps out from the trees covering the road in a thick white blanket. Suddenly my car skids out of my lane and onto the other side of the road. I twist the wheel rapidly with white knuckled fingers, trying to gain traction again. Finally after some heart wrenching seconds, the car is under my control again.

I swerve back onto the correct side of the road and slow down. 'Breathe Lee, you're alright', I mumble to myself like a mantra until my thundering heart calms down. I let the tension leek out from my shoulders as I relax again. 'Just a bit a black ice, no biggie,' I laugh gently to myself, 'No need to stress yourself out.'

After three years spent surrounded by the warm yellow sands of Australia, I've forgotten how perilous the icy roads of Alaska can be. But I grew up on these slopes, camping in the woods and swimming in the glens. I just need to get used to being here again, I think with a boost of confidence.

I plough on through the mountains, driving towards the sky and its fading light. Up and up and up. A generic jingle breaks the silence as my phone starts to sing and buzz on the passenger seat. Without thinking, I reach over and answer the phone, following a bad habit I can never break.

"Alex Lee Silverman! Where on this earth are you!? You're late to our Christmas party!" a distinctly feminine voice shouts through the phone the minute I answer.

"Hi to you too, mom," I say in an overly sweet voice, splitting my concentration between the road in front of me and the phone beside me.

"Now don't you get smart with me, young woman," my mother chastises, "I've been worried sick about you! I haven't heard from you since you landed and that was this morning."

"Oh right. Sorry mom, I forgot. You know me! I've a memory like a sieve," I apologise, "Turns out they lost my bag. I had to stick around the airport until five as they might have placed my suitcase on the later flight from Sydney. But, of course, they didn't," I explain, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. It's not my mothers fault they mixed up the bags.

"Oh that's awful sweetie. But your bag! That's why I called. A lovely woman from the airport called the landline and you'll never guess what, dear, they found your bag. Isn't it wonderful," my mother exclaims happily.

"What!?" I ask but my mother ignores me.

"Yes, isn't it just fantastic. The woman was so kind, kept apologising. She told me that your bag was placed on the wrong flight and ended up in Ireland. Would you believe it, Ireland of all places! Then sh-"

"Okay, okay mom. You can tell me when I get home but my phone is about to die," I interrupt her as the one percent battery notice flashes on my phones screen.

"Hmmp. Well, alright dear, I love you. See you soon."

"Love you too," I say picking up the phone to hang up.

I let out a groan of frustration. Today is not a great day. Night has fallen rapidly, coating the landscape in a dark glow. Nothing but pitch darkness lies between the snow covered pine trees, that now are scattered through the forest.

Slamming my phone down on the passenger seat in annoyance, I'm not prepared when my car slips on another sheet of black ice. As my car skids onto the wrong side of the road, my thoughts are slammed back into the present. I forgot I wasn't driving on the straight smooth roads of Australia.

With knuckles as white as the snow outside, I twist the stirring wheel trying, in vain, to turn the car away from the edge of the road. My heart sounds like a thousand running horses in my ears and sweat coats my back and palms. I stomp on the breaks hard, as a last stitch effort to stop my car but it has no effect.

Time slows like it does in the action scenes of movies except this isn't a movie, this is real life. With a screech, my car is off the road and sailing towards the trunk of a very large sitka tree.