Something Like Winter by Jay Bell
The snowmobile kicked forward. Tim headed toward the highway. He wouldn’t follow the roads, of course, or he’d probably get run over by some hick drunk on eggnog. Instead he would cut across to the nearest valley and travel parallel to the highway until he reached town. When he reached open space, Tim twisted the accelerator, the snowmobile’s engine snarling through the night’s silence. The speed felt like an escape, like he was getting away from his stupid mistakes, the pain, all Travis’s cruel words that kept bouncing around in Tim’s mind.
Once he reached the line of trees, he slowed, but only to adjust to the new environment. The snow on the ground glowed white in the night, the trees dark pillars, like that painting Eric was so fond of. Tim steered toward the white, zooming around dark obstacles. Maybe he deserved this. After all, isn’t this what he had done to Ben? Left him standing in the middle of the night just because he couldn’t accept who he was?
Karma was a bitch.
Tim twisted the accelerator, momentarily confused by the way the ground seemed to become a wall. A snowdrift! He hit the brakes much too late. The snowmobile slid up the drift like it was a ramp and went airborne. From this new height, Tim could see he had crested a hill. Even if he hadn’t hit the drift, he would have caught air. But he might have had a better chance of regaining control. The snowmobile twisted in empty space, and Tim could no longer see what was in front of him.
He was debating whether he should let go of the handlebars and take his chances with dropping to the ground when the world smashed into him. The snowmobile took most of the impact—a crunching noise followed by a terrible whirring from the engine—but the vehicle was rolling against whatever it had hit. Tim instinctively pressed himself flat against the vehicle as it rolled over him, but still the impact hurt. Something sliced into his right arm, leaving him with white-hot pain that ripped a scream out of him. Then the mess of vehicle and rider briefly spun again in free air before hitting the ground with a crunch.
The wind was knocked out of Tim as he skidded across the ground, tumbling sidewise like a rag doll until he landed on his back. Eyes wide in panic, he pulled and pulled and pulled until air finally sucked back into his lungs. His entire focus became making sure he could breathe, but his nose never cleared. Hand shaking, he reached up to touch it, his glove coming back covered in blood and dirt. That matched the taste in his mouth. Swallowing and then gagging, he tried taking stock of himself.
His body hurt all over, especially his right arm, up by the shoulder, but at least he was in one piece. As for the snowmobile… Tim lifted his head to check and found it had rolled further away. No smoke. No fire. At least it wasn’t going to explode. He hoped.
Cautiously, Tim sat up, testing each limb to see if anything was broken. Everything seemed to be working. With a stiff neck, he turned his head to examine his arm. He saw blood on the outside of his jacket and something red and wet sticking out from the flesh. Head swooning, he was sure it was a broken bone, but when his vision cleared he saw a little offshoot.
Like a twig? He touched it and the pain increased, but some bloody bark shed from it. Sure enough, a twig was stuck in him. He looked at the skid mark the snowmobile left when it hit the ground. Not far away was a tree, the snow below it covered in wood splinters and shavings. Tim’s arm must have been punctured by a branch when hitting the tree. Gruesome, but better than a broken bone sticking out.
Tim touched the twig experimentally a few times. He didn’t think it was in too deep, so after a few steady breaths, he yanked it out. Then he screamed, because motherfucker—it hurt like hell! He let the pain motivate him, forcing himself to his feet and walking in a circle. He was okay. Sore, but okay.
Tim hobbled over to the snowmobile, which hadn’t fared so well. A large piece of the fiberglass shell had broken off, as had one of the handlebars. Worse than that, the tread that gave the vehicle traction had torn loose. As much as he loved cars, Tim was no mechanic. The snowmobile was useless to him.
He patted his jacket pockets, searching for his phone before he groaned, remembering he had never picked it up off the floor. So much for help. Tim would have to walk, and he needed to start soon if he was going to stay warm. He hesitated, trying to decide how far he had traveled. His journey out here was a blur. He could be just a few miles from Colorado Springs for all he knew, but in the end, he decided he should retrace the path the snowmobile had made. If he tried going forward while disorientated, he might end up lost or dead. Limping over the hill, he found the drift that had launched him into space and began making his way back to the cabin.
Chapter Seventeen
Cold. No matter how fast he walked—even when sprinting up a hill so fast it left him dizzy—Tim was cold. With no sense of time, he didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but now he was sure he’d been close to town when he wrecked the snowmobile. Judging from the way the snowmobile tracks weaved back and forth, he was drunker than he thought, probably since breakfast had been his last meal.
Something else was wrong. Tim’s right arm was soaked, the inside of his sleeve drenched, but not in sweat. He was sure he was bleeding from his wound, but didn’t dare strip off his jacket to check lest more of winter’s death touch his skin. Snow brings silence, and as Tim slipped and fell more and more often, he was sure that silence was coming for him.
Reaching the valley nearest the cabin, Tim picked up the pace, his breath shallow, hardly showing in the air as heat anymore. When he crested another hill and saw the cabin, he made a joyous croaking noise, feeling like his mother had finally noticed him crying with a scuffed knee and picked him up. Tim fought off a wave of exhaustion, his thoughts barely making sense anymore. All he knew was that he needed to get inside the place of light and warmth.
Tim hit the door in a panic to get it open, terrified that he would be locked out. The door opened and he stumbled inside, struggling with choices. Fireplace. Hot tub. Sauna. Shower. That last one sounded the best. Tim stripped as he walked toward the bathroom, every part of him numb except his arm, which screamed with pain. He glanced at it once his jacket was off and saw a mess of dried and fresh blood, but he refused to look further. Not until he was warm and the blood was washed away.
The shower water felt hot to his frozen skin, even when he first turned it on, but as soon as he saw steam he stepped beneath the flow. He ached as sensation returned, blood flowing again and his arm stinging because of the open wound. He tried to keep it sheltered from the water’s direct impact while he cleaned it. The wound was worse than he had imagined. The stick hadn’t just punctured him; it had left a five inch tear in his skin. Even as water washed away the blood, more was still flowing.
Tim felt dizzy, on the threshold of passing out. He pressed against the shower wall until he was steady again. Then he shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and barely patted himself dry before wrapping it tightly around his upper arm to slow the bleeding.
Please let there be a first aid kit! Tim had seen a freaking apple corer in the kitchen. If they had that, then surely they also kept bandages or something here. He checked the medicine cabinet, which was empty, then under the sink, where a white plastic box with a red cross on it became the world’s most valuable treasure. He grabbed it and shifted through the contents, finding antiseptic. How infectious could a tree be? Instead he went for the gauze, covering the wound with every bit before wrapping it around with cloth bandage. He made sure this was tight to stop the blood flow before he taped it.
Tim stared at the bandages, waiting for red to seep through. When it didn’t, he looked in the mirror and nearly flinched at his reflection. His nose was puffy and swollen, blood and dirt still crusting the edges. Hell, he felt like each nostril was stuffed full of that combination, but he was too tired to wash anymore. Heading for the nearest bedroom, Tim slipped beneath the down comforter. Toasty. Warm. Safe.
When he woke, the day was bright and the birds were chirping their pretty little heads off. Tim was shivering, but the comforter was still wr
Tim cupped his hands under the bathroom faucet and managed four handfuls before he decided he wasn’t done sleeping. Just a little more rest, and he would get up and pull himself together. He probably needed to eat, but the thought of food turned his stomach. Crawling back into bed, he covered his head with the extra pillow to shut out the light. When he opened his eyes again, the pillow was gone and the room was dark. The birds had fallen silent.
Night already? But Tim had bigger concerns. His entire body felt like it was on fire. He threw off the blanket and started shivering, his arm throbbing like it had a heart of its own.
“I’m so fucked up,” he said to the room, but he couldn’t hear anything except the television downstairs, still on after, what? A day? His mind reeled in confusion. Was Travis sitting down there watching TV? Tim nearly called out when events caught up to him. He lay in bed, his breath labored as he tried to make sense of his situation. The cabin had seemed a sanctuary when they first arrived, warm and full of potential. Now the room around him had grown dark and alien.
He would die here if he didn’t get help. Tim felt sure of it. If he could get downstairs to his phone, he could call someone, but first he needed to build up his strength. Tim braced himself to get out of bed but instead dozed off again. When he jerked awake, outside was still just as dark, but he heard tires on the gravel drive.
Travis had come back! Sorry for their fight, sorry for the things he had said, Travis had turned around and come back. Tim would forgive him, give him another chance, do anything he could to make it right, and this sickness would flee his body to be replaced by love.
“Tim?”
The voice wasn’t right. When it called out again, he realized he hadn’t answered and shouted a reply, his throat aching. Footsteps on the stairs, a light in the hallway. A silhouette filled the door before the lamp above him switched on. Then he saw the face he wanted to see most, the one who could make everything right again.
Eric.
“Are you okay?” Eric pressed a hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up!”
“I’ve felt better.”
“Can you sit up?”
Tim nodded and grunted with effort, the blanket slipping off his chest and exposing his arm. Eric’s face registered shock, and when Tim followed his gaze, he saw the black cherry color beneath the bandages and the crust of blood surrounding them.
“What happened to you?”
Tim smacked his lips, mouth like sandpaper. “I had an accident with the snowmobile. I think I’m sick.”
Eric’s laugh was manic. “We need to get you to a hospital! Can you make it to the car?”
Tim thought so. Now that Eric was here, his head felt clearer and he realized how fucked up he was. Taking a walk through the cold, even getting cut, that didn’t make a person sick. Not like this.
“Tim?”
“Huh? Yeah. I can make it. But stay by me.”
Tim managed to stand. Eric left the room when he saw Tim was nude and returned with a bathrobe and slippers. As soon as Tim was covered, Eric put an arm around him and walked him down the stairs. Tim was doing okay. He could stand on his own. He just felt like complete shit.
“I’ll bring the car around to the door,” Eric said, seating Tim on the shoe bench in the entryway.
Tim leaned back and closed his eyes, flinching in surprise when Eric touched him to help him up and outside. The cold was a nightmare, even though Tim was fevered, but soon he was in the warmth of a car that smelled like a rental. Music was on low, Christmas carols coming from the glow of the radio.
Eric opened the driver’s side door and hopped in, putting the car in gear and taking them away from there. “You’re going to be okay,” he said.
Tim closed his eyes again, comforted by a feeling of home he had long since thought lost.
* * * * *
Warmth. Not the overbearing heat of a fever or the chilling bite of cold. Just warmth in perfect balance, inside and out. Tim’s head hummed with a familiar sensation, the blissful kiss of opiates. He hadn’t felt this high since Ben jacked up his ankle.
Tim opened his eyes, expecting to see his foot in a cast and Ben sitting next to the hospital bed, jangling the keys of his 3000GT. He was nearly right. The person seated there was about the same size but a good deal older, calmly reading a newspaper folded in half.
Tim’s memory was muddled. He remembered Eric taking him to the hospital and not having to wait in the emergency room for once. A nurse, or maybe it was a doctor, gave Tim something that chased away the pain. And consciousness. Then there were brief flashes of waking up to see Eric’s concerned face, much like now, his brow crinkled up even as he read.
“Hey,” Tim said.
Eric moved the newspaper to his lap, looking somewhat relieved. “Hey! How are you?”
“Good.” Tim raised his head to look himself over. He was wearing a horrible hospital robe. He started to lift the sleeve so he could check out his arm when he noticed the tube stuck into his hand. “Oh, man! These things creep me out!”
“That’s how they fed you breakfast,” Eric teased. “Lunch too.”
Tim’s head swam. “Have I been out that long? What day is it?”
“The twenty-eighth.” Eric checked his watch. “Almost four in the afternoon.”
“Well, that’s three days of my life gone.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t more.” Eric moved the chair closer to the bed, turning it so he was facing Tim. “What happened to you? I got your call about Travis and kept calling you back. When you still weren’t answering the next day, I caught the next flight.”
“Sorry,” Tim said. “Once Travis left I made some stupid decisions. I feel bad making you come all this way.”
Eric shook his head as if it didn’t matter. “On the phone you said you had a fight with Travis and he left. Sounds serious.”
“Permanent,” Tim corrected. “Travis chose fear. I don’t think there’s any hope at this point. I really don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” Eric leaned back, glancing out the window where two birds swooped through the air, chasing each other. “Do you love him?”
Tim swallowed. “No. I don’t think so. But I could have, you know? He’s the first person since Ben who could have meant something. I thought I understood where he was coming from, but I guess not.”
Eric, to his credit, didn’t lecture Tim about other fish in the sea. Instead he nodded at Tim’s upper arm. “What happened there? The doctor pulled out a lot of splinters.”
Tim remembered the injury and checked it out. The area was clean now, purple from bruising, and stitched up with black thread. He was going to have one hell of a scar. He pulled the robe sleeve over the injury and found Eric still waiting for an answer. “I sort of downed a bottle of wine and thought I’d take one of the snowmobiles through the woods to town. It’s still out there somewhere. Trashed.”
Eric closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I’ll pay for the damages,” Tim said quickly.
“I don’t care about the snowmobile,” Eric said with a glare. “You could have killed yourself!”
“I wasn’t trying to,” Tim said. “I mean, I’m not suicidal or anything.”
“No, you’re just young. And stupid.” Eric exhaled his worry and took Tim’s hand. “Don’t worry. Love, or even just infatuation, has a diminishing effect on intelligence. It’s lucky you still remember how to speak.”
Tim made some ape noises to show how far gone he was. Eric laughed.
“Next time I plan a romantic get-away,” Tim said, “I’m taking you with me instead. Forget the stupid frat boys.” He didn’t car
“I’m flattered,” Eric said, comically fanning himself with his newspaper as if he were overheating. “If you insist on courting me, you can start by inviting me to dinner. I understand this establishment has won Michelin Stars for its phenomenal Jell-O a la carte!”
Tim grinned at him. “It’s a deal.”
* * * * *
The doctor insisted on keeping Tim another day, rambling on about aspiration pneumonia and intravenous antibiotics to silence any protests. Apparently Tim had sucked some nasty stuff into his lungs during the wreck—probably the dirt and blood that also clogged his nose—and was lucky not to have infected lungs drowning in pus, or something like that. Rather than suffer more nauseating details, Tim agreed to treatment.
Soon Tim was bored out of his mind, especially after Eric left to stay at the cabin for the night. Television, Tim’s only distraction, was turning his mind to soup when Eric returned with a Mylar balloon tied to a teddy bear.
“This is embarrassing,” Tim said, scowling at the bear but secretly loving it. He just couldn’t imagine bringing it back to the frat house.
“Well, maybe you’ll like this better.” Eric handed him a book on Japanese sports cars. “I also bought myself something to read.”
“You don’t have to stick around here all day,” Tim said, not meaning it.
“What else am I going to do?” Eric settled down into the chair by his bed. “I already straightened up the cabin. Shame about the lasagna.”
“Travis,” Tim said, happy to shift the blame. “Sorry it went to waste.”