Short Story - Jake and the Price of Cool - pg 3Ten minutes later, Steven and I were standing outside in the frigid air smoking our last couple of ciggies in the only place permissible. My fingers were bright lobster red, and Steven had a smile that actually quivered. Bloody cold day. Sound carries on cold days like daggers into ice, so we might have actually been the first ones to hear the sirens. Two blue-and-whites came roaring right up to the front doors of the school, and an officer opened the door for Chuck's wife. The whole student body came pouring out in the next few minutes. Chuck was slow in emerging. He would have just had enough time to make it from the cafeteria back to one of the painting studios probably, and whoever they'd sent to get him had had a hell of a time locating him. They could have sent me. I'd have found him in no time flat. I would have been able to talk to him if I had. I wish I had. Stupid wish. I didn't know what was happening. I would have had to have been psychic to know. So why didn't I go over to him when he came out? Because, my darling, you don't go traipsing over to a man standing with his ex-wife when you're an attractive young girl she's only met briefly once. Especially in dire circumstances. You don't give the wife anything else to worry about. I know I was Chuck's friend and all that, but I hung back. I didn't want to interfere. I think I did the right thing. She was crying and screaming, beating Chuck's chest, all completely hysterical. Then Chuck started to cry, and I really began to admire him, strange although that might sound. Here was a guy whose heart was broken, whose world was falling apart, and he wasn't going to be a jerk who pretended everything was all right until he could get to a bar and drown himself in beer. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever once saw Chuck take a drink. The whole school knew by the end of that scene out front that Jake had disappeared. Somewhere between the bus stop at the school and the one near his mom's place, where she was waiting, Jake had gone AWOL, and the police were taking it very seriously. I was heart-sick too, a bit. Poor Chuck. Poor Jake. But I swear, I always believed things would be fine. I mean, he was a great kid. Right? Two days passed, with no word about Jake. It may seem heartless, but life just went on, and I found myself heading up the hill to go skiing with Steven. I could hardly pass that up, could I? We took the lift up, and I promised myself I'd never let on to Steven how much I was suddenly regretting having agreed to this crazy thing. I figured I could probably have lived my whole life without doing something that passed off entering mortal danger as a recreation. And then, we were off, and I supposed I was committed. The run took us down what he told me would be a fairly lazy slalom course through a slightly wooded area, and I felt misled from the start. Trees, everywhere, I swear, and every one had my name on it. I was going very fast, very out of control, and following me, I had Steven with his "Bend your knees!" and "Don't hit anything that looks harder than a pillow!" Right. And then we were flying, over a rise in the suddenly-cleared snow, trees sinking away behind us where I didn't dare look for the sake of my precarious balance. The hill dropped steeply, and the river valley spread out before us. The ends of my skies were on nothing momentarily, and then I was leaning forward at a crazy angle, knees bent because it was my only hope left for staying alive, and we raced toward the plain below. And then, that combination of speed and wind and ice crystals slapping my cheeks, and the heat of my sweating brow. . . It was like the best chocolate with a warm brandy, at the beginning of a long weekend where you have nothing at all planned. But even better. I was in control and so wild, all at the same time. I was transported, and not just at high speed down a hill. I was floating outside my own body, and at the same time perfectly, euphorically grounded. I can honestly say nothing in my life has ever been quite as frightening or exhilarating as those five minutes on the mountain with Steven. There have been some pretty good driving near-misses, but nothing else even comes close. I started to think maybe I'd be able to jump out of a plane if someone invited me to, and I wouldn't chicken out and beg off with a cold like I did the last time. I could have seen the lights as soon as we got over the rise and onto the slope, but I didn't. Steven did, and he had his skis off and was running as soon as we hit the level. I was slower and much clumsier, but I made it to the bridge almost even with him. He'd deserted his skis, and I'd followed suit. I was like an albatross suddenly, not understanding how my legs worked, and out of my element. My head was still back on the hill. I saw Chuck as soon as we were across the bridge. He was walking slowly toward the fringe of woods behind the school in the wake of a crowd of police officers. There was a gravity about him which made me follow him in wonder. He was so dignified, so straight. His sandy beard was the only bit of color on his face, although I swear it was thirty below. I shed my gloves as I walked. I never found them again. I slipped my hand into his. Whatever the reason, I wanted to be there for him. Anyhow, who else did he have at the school? The wife wasn't around this time, although she must have been on her way. We were both numb, I figured, Chuck and me, and I felt like a bit of an interloper. Here I'd been, living it up on the ski slopes, while he'd been in hell the last two days wondering if his little boy was ever coming home. To have lost him once already to his separation, and then again — no, that would be unthinkable, and unbearable. Now, I'm wondering a bit how much I presumed. After all, I was just the chick who had coffee with him every day or so, to hear stories about that kid of his who I liked so much and whose father was so proud of him he could have been SuperJake under the small snowsuit and blond mop. SuperJake. An officer came out of the woods carrying the little bundle in his arms, with ridiculous care. It was wrapped in the green snowsuit, although I heard later that wasn't at all how he'd been found. I felt Chuck's fingers squeeze, and I held on for dear life. [1][2][3][4]
|
