I Told You So

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. It was the third time that day I had come up that god-forsaken little road and each time with diminishing success. I heard the wheels bite into the knee-high snow through the vibrations in the steering wheel while cold air poured in through the open window onto my already frozen forearms. I had barely enough strength to turn the wheel, but it had to be done. There was, quite frankly, no other way. I grabbed the side of the truck with my arm and leaned as far out as it would go. If the truck didn’t make it up this hill, we would have to get out and push it, and there was no bloody way that I was going to do that.

-”Here goes,” I announced through clenched teeth.

Marie, who had been sitting silently shivering in the passenger seat beside me simply nodded. She knew better than to proffer advice in a situation like this.

I depressed the clutch and shifted down to second gear. I knew we would not make it up there in third. The pile of wood haphazardly thrown onto the back moved perceptibly, but I tried to put it out of my mind. There was a good chance it would topple off the side, but I didn’t care. If worse came to worst, we could always lug it up the hill ourselves later. Fortunately, we were close enough to the cabin for us to do it manually if we needed to. The truck’s wheels spun on the icy incline and the engine labored. It sounded something like an old ass huffing and puffing beneath the weight of a fat desert sultan. The first little bit went well as the tires found their grip on something - probably a little bit of gravel that poked through the icy sheet underneath the snow bank, but then everything went to shit. And it happened so quickly that I barely had time to react. First, I felt the truck backsliding. It’s that terrible feeling of near-weightlessness just before you realize things are wildly out of control. Next the pile of wood careened to one side before spilling miserably onto the side of the embankment. Throughout the ordeal I glanced at Marie, who was holding onto the dash for dear life, arms outstretched like she was in labor, trying very hard to retain some semblance of composure, but it was no use. Then the truck tipped onto its side, or, almost. It hung suspended in the air momentarily, the right front tire lifted entirely off the ground, before it came crashing down hard onto the snow, the weight of the falling sliding woodpile tipped the balance back. Marie let out a tiny shriek as she bounced in her seat and I smacked my forehead solidly on the window frame of the truck. I sat, dazed and trying to catch my breath, heart pounding, and a thin trickle of blood coursing down my brow.

-What the hell! Marie shouted, breathlessly.

I whipped around to look at her, compounding the injury I didn’t know I’d sustained in my neck. I winced. I wanted to curse, but something prevented me. The same thing, perhaps, that had prevented her from objecting to my attempt to steer the truck up the hill. Instead, I left Marie in the cab and hopped out, landing knee-deep in the snowbank. This time I did curse. I could hear Marie doing the same. Scattered around me like the aftermath of a smashed beaver-dam, lay the remnants of the woodpile that we’d spent most of the afternoon collecting. I trudged to the first branch and dragged and tried, ineffectual, to haul onto the back of the truck. A stray end whipped itself onto my cheek and I cursed again.

-Just leave it, Marie said, irritably.

She had climbed out too and was walking around the truck to meet me. She stood surveying the mess, her hands planted on her hips.

-Just don’t, I said.

The last thing I needed just then was an argument. Things were already as miserable as they could possibly be. Then, she said it.

-I told you this was a bad idea.

I fumed. Some part of me knew that she would say it. She had to. She always said that little something right at the moment when I least needed to hear it. I felt the muscle in my jaw tighten and the heat building up beneath my collar, despite the crushing cold. For a brief moment, I thought about running my mouth. Telling her exactly what I thought, but, of course, it would do no good. So I turned around and stomped off towards the little cabin.

-Where are you going? She called after me.

I ignored her.

-I’m talking to you, daminit, she shouted, her voice low and thick with anger. There was nothing she hated more than being ignored. I kept walking, the snow crunching deliciously underfoot. The cabin was only a few hundred feet away and though I knew it would weaken my position, I longed to glance back over my shoulder to see the look of mounting anger in her face. But I didn’t. After a while I could hear the thunk of her arms as they fell to her sides in exasperation.

I mounted the short flight of steps and stood at the front door. It was a cozy little place. An oasis of sorts, right in the middle of the forest, surrounded by large trees with branches sagging from the weight of the snow. A magical place. A place to relax and unwind. So much for that, I thought. In one corner of the patio stood a small stove that was out of commission, its little door rusted slightly ajar and home to a family of raccoons. Across the front the owners had attached a sheet of paper that was peeling at the edges. It read in an untidy scrawl: do not disturb the raccoons. I walked past it and pulled off my gloves to open the door. Then it hit me.

Marie had the keys.

I stood there staring at the wooden door frame with its chipped edges. She had been the last person inside. I had even watched her from the idling truck some hours earlier, locking the door before then stuffing them into the pocket of her coat. There was no way I could get in without her. I guess the joke was on me. A warm glow spread across my cheeks. She had me over a barrel. The only way I could get in was to go back and plead with her to let me have the keys.

Or was it?

I shucked off my coat and tossed it across the top of the little stove. There is more than one way to skin a cat, I thought grinning to myself. Marie could keep the damn keys. I came back down the stairs in a sprightly step and walked around the side of the cabin. It had stopped snowing just then and the forest was deathly quiet. Somewhere far away, a branch cracked beneath the weight of the snow then snapped and came tumbling down. Its chute into the whiteness echoed dully in the close-packed air. I made two turns around the outside before I located it: a small, almost imperceptible opening right at the very top of the cabin where the wooden v-frame met the awnings. I stood, feet apart, studying it. If only there had been a ladder someplace...Then I recalled seeing a barrel partially hidden against the side of the structure. In all likelihood a storage compartment for supplies for which there was no space inside. I tipped it over at great effort and had commenced rolling it across the snow when Marie appeared at the side of the cabin. I looked up just in time to see a deep frown spread across her brow. She seemed like some crazed Amazonian warrior, hell-bent on destroying me - or anyone for that matter.

-What the hell are you doing?

She had her hands on her hips again.

I was breathless, but warm from the exertion. I hoped my renewed vigor, evidenced in my flushed cheeks and cheerful countenance, would rile her up even further.

-What does it look like? I said.

Marie raised her hands up in the air.

-I wouldn’t be asking if I knew, would I?.

I smiled inwardly, then ignored her as I turned back to my labor of love. A few seconds passed before she tried again.

-Are you going to ignore me again? She said, cattily.

I did not answer her.

By now, the barrel was positioned exactly where I needed it to be. I reached under the edge and lifted it up, grunting from the effort. When it was upright, I looked up at the little door and measured its distance from the top of the barrel. Yes, I said to myself, that would do just fine. I wiped the top of the barrel with my hand and placed my foot on the tip. It would be a grand acrobatic feat, but I was sure I could reach the door once I was on top. I gathered myself inwardly for the leap, but Marie’s voice stopped me.

-You’re not seriously going to try and climb up there?

-I am, I said.

I meant it.

-You know I have the keys right?

-I don’t care.

-Suit yourself, she said and turned to go.

I could hear her climb the stairs in the front, then the rustle of keys followed by the creaking of the door as she opened it. Fuck you, I thought. I’m getting in on my own.

I levered myself up and stood panting on the top of the barrel. It wobbled a little as I shifted my weight from foot to foot, but I was sure it would hold. I could hear Marie pattering inside. Marie be damned, I thought. I crouched, aimed and jumped. It was a miracle that I managed to reach the ledge at all, but I did. I gripped it tightly and pulled myself up, my fingers aching from the intense cold. Probably, I had skinned the pads on the rough wooden paneling too, but I didn’t care. I held on for dear life as I swung my legs up onto the precarious little ledge. It was an uncomfortable position, but it afforded me just enough space to reach out and tug at the little brass handle. I tried it once, twice, but it didn’t budge. Tighter than an ox’s ass. I cursed. No ways, I thought to myself. This cannot be how it ends. I reached out once more and tugged as hard as I could. The little door gave way only a fraction of an inch, but it was enough encouragement for me to renew my attempt. I tugged again and again, and each time the little door opened a fraction of an inch further. Then, finally, with one last tug, arms burning and legs aching, the door gave way. It swung out and in doing so nearly tore me off the ledge altogether. It was only by sheer luck that I managed to keep myself from toppling backwards onto the snow. In one last grand effort, I hauled myself up and in through the little door. I don’t know what I expected to find, but it certainly wasn’t what was there. Stuck in the tiny door frame, half-in, half-out I found myself face-to-face with a barn owl. Its large saucery eyes swiveled on its feathery neck to face me, its unsuspecting intruder. I was too shocked to react. Nor could I beat a hasty retreat. To do so would mean risking a long fall to the ground. I lay there, blinking, while the large creature edged towards me shrieking, wings outstretched. At that moment, I thought about the stupidity of the actions that had brought me to this point. What was I thinking? In a moment of brilliant clarity, I reached out and grabbed the bird by its head, but, of course, the animal had anticipated an attack. Why wouldn’t it? I felt the sharp edges of its beak close around my fingers and then I blacked out. When I woke up, Marie was bent over me. She had the same disapproving frown plastered across her face.

-I told you, she said.

I groaned. Something deep inside felt loose or broken. I grabbed my side and sat up on the snow. I must have cut a rather pathetic figure, lying there covered in white, clutching my side like a fool child. Marie’s face hadn’t changed.

-You could help me? I said, pathetically.

-I thought you didn’t want my help?

She raised her eyebrows as she said this, like a mother scolding a petulant child.

-Damn you, I muttered.

It was a poor choice of words, but my faculties were clouded with anger and blunted with the shooting pain in my side.

-I could have died, you know? I said, vindictively.

-Then why did you climb up there?

I struggled to my feet and stood heaving. I had no good answer, but I wouldn’t say so. Not in a million years.

-Are you going to stop being stupid and come inside? She asked.

I didn’t answer her.

The next couple of minutes were excruciating. I staggered forward and limped around the side of the house to the front steps. Marie followed sternly behind. She didn’t offer to help, but I would have denied her anyway. I struggled up the steps, holding tightly onto the rails for support. When I reached the top, I stopped to catch my breath. I only had a few meters more to go. You can do this, I told myself. I shuffled forward, lamenting the support that the rails had offered me.

-Go inside, Marie said.

-Don’t tell me what to do.

I was at the threshold of the door when the sight of my jacket on the little stove stopped me. I veered to the side, just far enough to reach it, but before I could lift it clear of the stove top a flash of black caught my eye. It was lightning fast and before I knew what had happened, the raccoon had snapped at my fingers, on the only good hand I had. I shrieked, lunged back then lost my footing and toppled down the flight of steps. Marie stood momentarily shocked into silence, then threw her head back and laughed - a deep, throaty laugh that reverberated in the trees deep-covered in snow. I lay there, gasping for breath, two small soporous gashes on my hand, which I now clutched to my aching side. And then it came. Slowly at first, like the slow burning of the fuse on a firework, before erupting the very next moment in a sudden burst of energy. I laughed and laughed, deep and hard, and I couldn’t stop. Marie had fallen to her knees in the snow and was laughing harder than I’d seen her laugh in a very long time. We lay there in the quiet, cushiony cold, laughing until we could laugh no more. Then Marie got up and helped me to my feet. She led me up the steps, past the little table atop which lay the keys to the cabin, past the kitchen and all the way to the couch in front of a fire that she had made herself. I sunk down onto the couch and lay there panting. The rest of the evening was spent nursing my wounds, watching Marie through the little window. She packed the spilled firewood carefully onto the back of the truck, backed it down the driveway then came slowly up the other side to park it expertly alongside the cabin. When she came back, her cheeks were red and flushed with effort and I thought she looked more beautiful than ever. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she sat down beside me. Then she turned her bottle-green eyes to look deep into mine.

-Thank you, I said.

-Don’t mention it.

I never told her about the owl.

END