Fresh Eyes, First Snow

Two headfuls of space. The focus when that’s all there is.

Every maths and science lesson I had, soundlessly turns inside ‘frozen space headfuls’ calculating breaths I can subdue, thus saving precious air for Thierry. He endured agony waitlisted for life-changing eye surgery. Never complained or even flinched.

“Doc Ben gives anu eye,” he’d often repeat with the broken English he knew.

“Oh no,” I’d joke. “Huuuge discount! You get TWO new eyes.”

“Tooo nuu eyes!” He’d laugh.

And I felt sure he understood, gleaming pearly white teeth at me. White like both sclera post-operatively. White like snow he’d never see in Koulia Ba glistening on a miracle six-year-old’s deliverance face.

Volunteering with Médecins sans frontières bestowed favors.

A ski slalom run on powder fresh virgin snowfall; Thierry strapped to my body?

Small beans.

I daresay men’s hearts would river tears at the sight of his cinnamon face when he first beheld it. Countenance overflowing rapture at frosted water falling. He ate it. Rolled in it. A covered chalk dust snowsuit. Porcelain fluff. Giggles. Ice crystals on lips. Vast milky silence before descent and swish-swish, then “Again, Doc Ben! Again!”

His exuberance healed my soul.

But that avalanche...came outta nowhere.

Impromptu ice sculptures in an Arctic tomb in Tignes, medical logic dictates positives to Thierry’s unconsciousness: More available air absent shrieks of pain.

Downside: I can't check his airway.

Mental counting amidst alabaster frosted chill, a respirations-to-rescue ratio required for life...