Winter Haze

She staggers through the snow. She never should have gone to Alaska with her college boyfriend. She never should have agreed to spend her last winter break in a dingy hunting cabin. She never should have drunk two bottles of wine when he left to shoot a moose and then didn't return for six hours. And she really shouldn't have said she would never consent to have his children because they might inherit his mother's short, dumpy figure and close-set eyes. She ran out into the snow and told him not to come after her.

He should have followed me anyway. It's winter in Alaska. I could die out here.

Now she is trudging through the snow with a blood alcohol level of God-knows-what and snowshoes that are two sizes two big, headed for Amarok, the nearest settlement. It has a bar, a small, home-style restaurant, and a bed and breakfast where she will be able to sleep uninterrupted by her boyfriend's snoring. The air is icy and hostile--nothing like the cold in upstate New York--and she wishes she were already sitting at the bar, laughing with the waitress over the perfidy of men and ordering a nine-percent beer.

Amarok is just two miles away, she thinks. Or is it four? She tells herself it doesn't matter, that she ran a marathon just last month, that even four miles is nothing for a fit young woman like her. Yet her limbs feel like numb columns of lead and the effort of lifting each foot feels Herculean. It's just the wine. It's making me sleepy. She passes by a large tree stump. It looks inviting, sooooo inviting, as comfortable as a calfskin couch.

I'll just sit down for a minute and close my eyes. I just need a little rest, that's all.

***

When she opens her eyes again, he's there. Her boyfriend is looking down at her, his brown eyes wide with concern. She's lying under a soft down comforter. She feels warm, safe, and cozy. Her boyfriend must have followed her, after all. How else could she be back at the cabin?

"You scared me," he says with a nervous laugh. "Here, drink this." She props herself up with two white, fluffy pillows and takes the steaming mug from his hand. She sips the warm liquid gratefully. It's equal parts sweetness and fire.

"It's rum and honey," he explains, smiling. "It should warm you up and head off some of the damage you did with those two bottles of cabernet."

She smiles sheepishly. "Thank you," she says in a small, hoarse voice.

"Are you warm enough?" he asks, all suavity and solicitude.

She takes in his chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. She remembers how safe she feels in his arms. "Not quite," she says, patting the space beside her on the bed.

He begins unbuttoning his shirt. "I thought you'd never ask."

She closes her eyes and nestles into his arms. His body feels strangely cool and light. Weightless. As if they were floating.

***

I can see myself sprawled in the snow several feet away from a large tree stump. The lights of Amorak are just a few hundred feet away. Why don't I go to them? Where's my boyfriend? Why did he let me go?

One of the lights from town she sees comes closer and closer, getting bigger and bigger until it burns away her vision and her fear. She no longer sees her stiff, cold body dusted with snow.

She no longer sees anything.