"One Saturday..."

...I sit upon my chair in the light of a firey hearth, watching water trickle down the windowpane. There is a draft of cold air—I can feel it hangin just over my head. Only the fire keeps me warm. I hear the pattering of every drop hitting the roof above me, the only thing that’s protecting me from the storm. For me, the home is the best place to be right now.

It can only bring you down more, a change in the weather like this. It’s nothing you can control, just like life, I suppose. You just have to wait for it to blow over and, eventually, the sun will come back. That doesn’t make it any easier to live through, though. I still feel the weight every moment I sit, staring at a crying sky. It makes me think of all I’ve lost and all I might lose. Interesting thing to say, but it does. Depression gets the better of me. I spill my sorrows into yet another glass of scotch. I drink it from the brim all the way down. With every swallow goes one problem that faces me, and I feel a little bit better.

The doorbell rings. It reminds me of the bells that ring on Sunday at church, another sanctuary of mine. Unfortunately for me and everyone else facing their troubles, it is Saturday. I stand up from my chair, my aching legs crumbling under my overweight body. How did I let myself go? I walk along the creaking hardwood floor to the door. Through the looking hole, I see that it is my brother, Phil, dry as a bone under his umbrella. Come to visit me again on his free time, has he? Fulfilling his quota for the month? I might as well let him in, I think to myself. There’s no harm in some company; I could use it. I unlock the door and pull it open, immediately feeling the cold winter air rush towards me from outside.

“This is unexpected, Phil,” I say to him.

“How are you?” he replies, “Just wanted to drop by, see how you are?”

I have to pause for a moment. How does he think I feel? How would he feel? “Carrying on,” I finally say. “It’s not easy.”

“I can’t imagine,” he says. He pushes the rim of his glasses up from his nose.

“Come in out of the cold,” I say, ushering him in. He retracts his umbrella as he crosses the threshold and steps inside. He sets it by the door and removes his overcoat. He inspects every corner of the room. He has a habit of doing so. He wants to make sure I’m still living clean.

“Keeping nice and warm, it looks like.” I say nothing. He takes a seat on the couch as I recline into my chair again. “How are you holding up?” he asks.

“Fine. I’m just living. That’s all I can do.”

“How long has it been?” he asks. Is it really that hard for him to remember?

“Two weeks,” I reply, “You were at the funeral.”

“I’ve been busy.” That’s all he says. It’s the perfect excuse for him. He could miss his own funeral on account of he was busy. I think of saying that to his face, but I don’t want to be rude.

“I miss her,” I say instead. “Especially today. Saturday was our day.” I think back to some of those Saturdays past—drives to the beach on hot days, staying in for tea on old days, dinner and dancing at the club on some nights, or a quiet night at home on others. She would read her Austen or Dickens, I would read my paper. The fireplace would bring us together in its warmth. Looking at it now, I can’t remember it ever being simpler than then.

“She was a wonderful woman,” says Phil, bringing me out of my reminiscence, back to reality.

“That she was. She brought so much life here. It’s quiet now.” I need another drink. I stand up to fill my glass for one more round. “You want one?” I offer to my brother. He shakes his head. Never mind him. What problems does he have?

“So what will you do now?” he asks as I begin to drink.

“What do you mean?”

“What’s your next step?”

“You mean am I gonna try to find another one?” It’s so easy for him. In his world, you could get marries one day and then trade her in for a new wife the next day. Women are cars to him. I don’t think the same way.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Now he’s embarrassed. “I mean will you eventually want to after some healing?”

“I’m sixty years old,” I sternly put it, “I’ve been married for twenty-seven years, to the same woman, and now she’s gone. I’ve had my run in life. I’m finished.”

The pattering on the roof is becoming louder. Somebody is throwing rocks, I think to myself. That’s what the sound reminds me of. I look to the window to see a torrent of water raining down on the trees, the grass, and the sky. There’s no hope for sunlight.

“As for healing, I have to think about that. I’m not exactly sure what I will do yet. Church only reminds me of her more. It was her favorite thing to do.”

“If you need me,” Phil says to me, “You know you can call me, right?”

“I know,” I say. “I just need time.” There is nothing else to say.

I walk Phil to the door as he grabs his things from the doorstep. After talking for about an hour of other things, he said he had to head home to be with his family. What family do I have to be with? After he leaves, the house is quiet again. The rain is still falling hard and the fire is beginning to go out. Gusts of wind from outside begin to come from the chimney. Soon, the fire was gone, and the house was dark.

I can’t stay in here anymore, I think. I need to brave the cold. It’s not like me to deny my problem. I’m lost without her. I have to find out what she wants me to do.

I stand from my chair and walk towards the door. I don’t even think to slide my boots on. I leave them and open the door to the downpour that lies outside. I stood for a moment, apprehensively staring out into the wet street and up to the gray sky. I take the first step. The wet water along the cobblestone path splashes beneath my feet. All the while, my entire body is soaked by the rain. My shirt is dripping wet as the rain runs down my face. It feels more soothing than I thought it would. It’s a change from the warmth inside the house.

I walk further out onto the sidewalk. I take one look up to the sky and stare for a long time. I’m not sure what I am looking for, if it’s God, or if it’s her. I know she is always listening. “What I am I supposed to do?” I ask. I’m not supposed to hear anything, but I feel nothing either. I do see the sky, though. There is a small opening in the clouds, just big enough for the last rays of light from the afternoon to shine through. I see the sun for only a moment. It blinds me, but I do not squint. The rain stops and I feel the weight of the water on my body. It is not as cold anymore. The sun rays beam down onto the street, lighting up the world again. I feel as though the part of me that died with her is slowly starting to grow back. Time heals all, I think to myself. It will heal this to.

I walk back to the house, thinking of what I will talk to Phil about when I call him tomorrow. It’ll be a sunny day.

"The Blizzard"

The man trudged through the thick snow that covered the rocky ground. The fierce winds blew bits of ice and frost in every direction clouding his vision. He’d made this trip before. He remembered the other times that he’d brought the goods from the town through the mountain pass and back home. The times before, the air had been quiet and pristine. Not so say that the climb was any less difficult, but he’d never made the journey in these conditions before. This time, the Sierras seemed different, almost other-worldly. He could barely see in every direction he looked. He searched behind him, holding the lantern outward to see through the wintry haze. He looked at the sled, checking to make sure that nothing had fallen off during their ascent. All of the boxes were still there. His dog, a hulking Saint Bernard, faithfully followed close behind him

He saw that the dog was moving slower than his usual pace. It was not easy for a large dog such as his to breathe in such an unforgiving environment. The altitude was becoming overwhelming He decided that they still had time to stop just one more time. They came to a small cave in the rock that could shield them from the falling snow. They crammed themselves through the tiny crevice that led to the cave. With ease, he sat himself on a rock inside and threw off his pack.  He let the rope he pulled the sled with go and watched it shuffle the snow as it fell. The dog crawled up and lay down on top of him so they could share their body heat with each other. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a thermos of hot water and a metal bowl. He twisted off the cap slowly, watching the steam rise to his face. It moisturized his dry, cold complexion, rising into his pores and caused his forehead to break into a cold sweat. After wiping his brow with a handkerchief, he poured the steaming liquid into the bowl and set it on the ground next to the dog. He sniffed at the surface with his wet nose first and then began to lap up the water. He saved the last few drops for himself, taking a few drinks at a time. The water was extremely hot, but still refreshing. He savored the flavor. It warmed his cold, aching body. He could feel it run down his dry throat. He drank it quickly so that the twenty-below temperatures would not freeze it over.

He looked off to the west. Through the storm on the other side of the mountains, he could see a small outline of the sun and the surrounding sky. The sun was beginning to set and the sky changed from a bright orange into a darker hue. He jumped up, threw his gear back into the bag, and threw the pack over his shoulder. 

“Hurry, boy!” he yelled to his dog, standing himself up, propping on the walking stick. 

He knew that they had to hurry. After they left the town, they began working their way through the foothills and up the eastern slope. They still had a ways to go.  They had to get up the mountain and climb back down the west side to the cabin before nightfall. If not, they would freeze before they even had a chance to contemplate death.

            The man and his companion continued onward across the mountainside. Across rugged, sometimes dangerous landscapes, they traveled. At the same time, there was a surreal beauty about the range. Looking off in any direction, they could see signs of Mother Nature’s art. Her divine beauty could be seen in the way that the snow capped the monumental rocky peaks and the evergreen pines in the valleys below them. The sky was her palate, and the only color of choice was white. Pure white. With strokes of her brush, she churned up the snow and moved it in whichever direction she desired. She blew the strong winds against the two mountaineers to weigh them down further. Something about them troubled her. They’d upset her delicate balance and stumbled through her creation, spoiling it with every step they took through the pass. This storm was one of her many masterpieces she had created in this world and these intruders were poisoning it.  In an act of vengeance for their foolish missteps, she made their journey even more unbearably difficult as time crawled onward.

 They began to approach the final feat to overcome this mountainous path. The time that it took to crest the peak seemed like an eternity to them. About halfway up, he began to tire out. The arid winds chapped his face. His lips bone dry. It was becoming hard to breath in the increasing altitude. Meanwhile, the dog dragged behind him, feeling the same wariness. He began to pant more profusely the higher that they went. They were exhausting any energy they still had. Their destination was still a ways away from there and the man began to fear that neither of them would make it. They were losing the battle. They would soon be defeated and be left for Mother Nature to consume them. He collapsed onto the ground and rolled back down the slope a few feet, kicking up the snow as he tumbled downward. The lantern slipped from his hands and slid down the slope and off of the sheer cliff into a thick cloud of nothingness. Without the light, he could see only about two inches in front of his face. The dog lay down next to him as if he were giving up himself. As the man began to slip away and finally accept their impending fate, it was as if his life was flashing before him at one point in time.

Boyhood—He remembered the times when he used to skip rocks on the Merced when the water was calm, or scaled the little hills in the vallies thinking that he’d conquered the tallest climb in the world. His teenage years—He remembered the times that he made the five-mile hike across the foothills each day at dawn just to get to the schoolhouse by eight o’clock and how much longer it took during the cold winters. Manhood—he remembered those three years he spent building the cabin that he would never see again, stacking wall upon wall of logs just to make a decent dwelling. The last day that came to his mind was when he found the dog. It was summer—the air was hot. The man was fishing down by the river when he heard howls in the distance. Too late in the day to be wolves, he thought. He followed the noise until he came upon the helpless animal. He was caught in a bear trap whining and moaning in pain. He hurried over and threw himself down to aid him. Using all of his strength he pulled the trap apart and the dog lifted his leg up and out of the trap. His paw bloodied, he continued to whine in pain. The man examined the dog. He saw he had a makeshift collar made out of a thin rope and a red bandana tied around. This was how his master identified him; it meant he was a hunting dog, large one at that. He watched the injured creature hobble away and he continued about his business. However, the dog felt obligated to repay his savior in some way. In an act of devotion, he followed the man back to his cabin. Fearing that his master or masters had left him for dead when no search parties arrived, he decided to care for the dog, to redeem himself for those he had left behind before. The dog become his hunter and retriever, ensuring that they would never go hungry. So there they met, and there they stayed dedicated since then. The memory began to fade back into the man’s darkening mind. Soon, there was only blackness—

Then, something happened. A feeling hit him, as if a fire had been lit inside his soul. It gave him a sudden surge of energy. Whether it was the stress of the climb or the fact that they would die if they did not continue, the feeling was there. Not in the man, who was still on the ground slipping into unconsciousness, but in the dog, his only friend. He could sense the danger of the situation that his master was in. This second wind of sorts encouraged the dog to get up and urge his master to do the same. After hesitating, the dog finally mustered up the strength to stand. He picked up his front paws and pushed his heavy body upward. Then, he pushed up his hind legs and hurried over to his master’s side.

There the man lay almost lifeless in the snow. With his dry nose the dog nudged the man and coaxed him to stand up. The first time, there was no movement. He nudged again, this time pushing harder to get him to move. Still there was no response whatsoever. The animal’s persistence was enduring. It was as if he was trying to say, “C’mon, you weak sonofabitch, get up! You can do it! If you don’t, you’re gonna die, and so will I! Move!” Every time he urged his master up, he did so with more force. He eventually resorted to barking and howling as loud as possible in hopes that someone would hear them through the strong winds. After watching and waiting for someone to reach the top of the hill in search of them, he was sure that no one would come for them. One last time, he tried to get his master to move. Apprehensive to do so, he finally decided to do the only thing that would get the man to respond. In a great frenzy of courage, he lunged forward and bit into his master’s arm, sinking his teeth far enough in to bite through his heavy wool jacket and three layers and break the skin, but not far enough to severely injure him. The man shrieked and writhed on the ground in pain as the dog pushed him up onto his feet. In a few pushes forward, he had finally gotten his master to finally stand and move slowly up the hill, hauling the cargo behind them again.

The pair persisted upward, the dog leading them while the man followed behind trying his hardest to keep up. The dog slowed only occasionally to make certain that the man kept moving. If he fell, the dog came to help him back up. Little by little, they treaded across the snow in hopes that they could make it. The man glanced to the horizon to find that the sun had set and the sky had become a dark shade of blue. Night would be there soon, which pushed him to move faster, eventually surpassing the dog’s speed and forcing him to run after his master to catch up. They were only a few feet away from the top, but seemed like several hundred to them from where they were. He began to lose his footing and slid back down. His face was glazed with the snow as he picked his head up from the cold ground. Anyone else would have given in long before they’d reached the top. They were beginning to tire again and were falling into the same trap that Mother Nature had put them in before. Yet, something told them not to quit on each other. The man’s energy was becoming stronger again, as if God was using his own arms to pull him up. He was almost numb, yet he still came up from the bed of snow. The energy was so strong that he could not find a reason to quit again.

He pulled himself up from the ice and picked up his feet again. He inched one foot in front of the other while the dog stood behind to make sure he did not fall again. With every step, his legs ached. He thought for a moment that he could hear his knees cracking under the weight of his body. They climbed, climbed, climbed, with step after step after step until his left foot finally crested the daunting knoll. With one final stride, he planted his feet onto the level surface of the peak and pulled the rest of his body up and over. There, he was graced with one of the most beautiful sights that he had ever seen. He knew he’d seen it before. Now, it seemed all the more worth seeing. He gazed out on the scene, letting his eyes absorb the wonder of it all. The dog stood by him in their moment of rest.

In the distance, an isolated glen was nestled in the foothills of the surrounding peaks. In that glen were many snow-covered trees and a very faint window of light. When he looked to the sky, he saw plumes of smoke rising into the storm. They were close. The man could almost smell the pinewood burning on the open hearth. He pictured a large pot of soup steaming and bubbling over the flames just waiting to be slurped up by the coldest and hungriest of men. They walked together down the other side slowly so as not to lose their footing. Both man and beast kept the feeling to themselves, but both were thrilled. They would have liked to acknowledge the fact that they had survived. They felt contented and warm deep down inside their cold and restless bodies. The man wished that he could embrace his friend who had saved him in his greatest time of danger. The dog would have liked to jump on him with such a force that it would have pushed the man down into the snow and begin licking him and slobbering on him with a jovial bounce. Both thought of sharing this moment, yet both were too exhausted by their journey. Instead, they shared a mere glance at each other as they walked. The man looked down on his friend, and the dog met eyes with him. Thank you, he thought. I know you probably cannot understand me. All the same, thank you.

 There was an unbreakable bond between them. They could feel that they would be able to live on for a long time together as kindred spirits in a world where only the two of them existed. They’d depend on each other often times before, but none more so than this day. They had conquered the blizzard. Somehow, though, both of them knew that Mother Nature would be back to give them another feat to overcome. They had impressed her with their perseverance through her tumultuous work of art and the hardships that she had thrown into it. She had to make it harder for them the next day that she would encounter them.  Not any day in particular, but something told them that she would come for her vengeance again soon. For now, they would wait to meet her next challenge. They now had a feeling that this force beyond their understanding that had helped them along this day would be with them in any other time of danger afterwards. They had a name for this force: friendship.

 A small plain cabin with a shingled roof covered in freshly-fallen snow and log walls was visible only a short distance away. They approached the porch, eager to enter, throw off their troubles, and embrace the warmth that awaited them. There they entered…