Flakes of snow curl around me like yesterday’s flames. They’re as puffy as clouds, as wet as Kuri’s tongue lapping at my cheeks. They drip from the sky in great empty breaths. I brush them out of my hair and stuff my hands back into my gloves, into my pockets. Flames cannot hurt me, but the cold can still chill me. My fingers are purple and pink against the vast, empty whiteness.
I glance down at my feet, sunk almost a half-foot deep in the snow. I bend down and scoop up a handful of the stuff, bring it to my mouth like a sacred offering. I take a bite and relish the sweet cool taste of mountain snow as it melts in my mouth. It reminds me of honey somehow. Sky-honey. This emptiness, out here in the snow, surrounded by pines, is different from the emptiness brought by the shadows. This emptiness is cleansing, purifying. Maybe it’s not even emptiness I feel here, but fullness: full of simplicity and elegance and awareness.
The shadows are nothing like that. They drain me away, siphon me off from myself. They leave me blank and hollow. Afraid.
“Noomi!” a voice calls. “Are you trying to get yourself killed out here?” It’s Paul. He’s trying to catch up to me, trudging ahead of the rest of the group.
“One thing you’ll learn, Paul,” I shout back, “is that it’s not a good idea to joke about killing yourself with a girl who’s been clinically diagnosed as suicidal.” He’s one of the newest counselors in my wilderness therapy group. He’s not very good at his job—he seems to think the emotional and psychological aspect of counseling is silly. He’s not interested in talking about our feelings or what he calls psychobabble. Of all my counselors and instructors, I like him the best. He doesn’t ask me to be someone I am not.
I wait as he catches up to me. He drops his head, staring at his feet. He’s at least six inches taller than me, but now he looks like a lonely duckling.
“Don’t tell Clara I said that,” he mumbles. I laugh.
“You know that’s why I like you, Paul. Because you’re not like Clara.”
“I don’t want to lose my job, okay?”
“I won’t tell her.” I smile at him. He huffs.
A hundred feet back, the other six members of my wilderness therapy group trudge through the snow, along with two older counselors. I stare out at the vast spread of the valley below us while they catch up to me and Paul. It’s so green down there, so wondrously green, and yet so white here. In the throes of spring, the world below is blossoming. But here on the mountain, winter reigns. I close my eyes and tilt my head skyward, staring into the vortex of tumbling snow. Crystalline flakes land on my face and melt down my cheeks. The droplets burrows into my scarf, chilling me, rinsing me clean.
No shadows here on the peak. There’s no darkness for them to hide in.
“Noomi,” Clara chastises, “you’re supposed to stay with the group when we’re walking together.”
“I know.”
“Well, be careful, okay? The snowdrifts can be treacherous up here. You need to stay warm.”
I know full well the cold can’t hurt me. But I nod anyway.
“We’re almost to the top, guys. Once we’re there we’ll break for lunch and do some reflective thinking—” Paul rolls his eyes, and I fight back a laugh “—and then head on back down the mountain.”
This time, I allow myself to fall behind the rest of the group as Clara and Paul lead us up to the summit. In a month or two, this peak will be crawling with day hikers, come to enjoy the wildflowers and picnic with their families in the sight of a majestic view. But for now, we have it to ourselves. I like it that way.
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Porous
Novela Juvenil*Trigger Warning* Depression, suicide, and mental illness are subjects dealt with in this story. I have a history with suicide. When I was three, I attempted the first time. A year later, my second, and not five months after that I tried again. Th...
