Frozen Polar Opposites Attract
It’s Complicated: Lit Up & The Writing Cooperative Contest
The Mercedes convertible is parked miles from the cabin, deep in the dense northern Minnesota backwoods, a lifetime from the city where she works as an executive account manager. A jagged cliff rises above it all, menacing, reminding her she is out of her element.
Born and raised in a small town, the move with him to the big city had been hard enough. Now he was going to kill her in the middle of nowhere. He was from the coast and said he needed to return to nature to save his soul.
She stands in the deep snow, the enveloping shadow of the shiny sports car chilling her while she fumbles with luggage. She stacks suitcases on a narrow plastic sled, secures them with a bungee cord. He wears two backpacks, one facing forward, a huge red Santa bag full of gifts in one hand, a garbage bag full of supplies in the other. No plan, ever, and this time it may kill them.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Crunching footsteps provide the cadence. Howls are heard in the distance. The sled tips over, top heavy, suitcases tumbling into the snow, landing half-buried.
“It’s too narrow, it’ll never make it up these hills. Here, let’s put these on the sled and I’ll just carry those.”
“But it’s too heavy.”
“Do you wanna not-die? Then follow me.”
“Funny. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He puts the shorter, wider bags on the sled and rigs up two suitcases with rope, slings them over his shoulder and grabs a third suitcase in the same hand as a smaller duffel. Their eyelashes are frozen and faces ruddy. His beard is frosty as they painfully make their way up and down many steep, winding hills.
“Why are we doing this again? I thought you loved me?”
“What’s that?”
He is twenty feet behind her, snapping pictures on his phone.
They march in silence as the sun sinks. Moonlight brightens the white path enough to see ahead, otherwise total darkness. Another howl is heard, louder this time.
“Jesus. Where is this place?”
“The guide said the cabin was about two miles in, said just stay on the maintenance road. It leads right to the site.”
“He laughed at us, too, remember? It’s been over an hour. Are we lost?”
“I don’t know. GPS doesn’t work out here, and my phone is starting to freeze in my pocket. It shut down while I was taking pics.”
“Weather app said earlier with wind chill it’s negative.”
“Damn.”
Breathing gets heavy, too hard to talk so they lower their heads and continue uphill, sliding back a foot for every two forward. When they reach the top, she marches past while he adjusts his bags and cases, looks up to her and smiles that big, beautiful smile that got her in trouble in the first place.
She mumbles under her breath: “Goddamn bullshit.”
“What’s that, sweetie?”
She doesn’t reply. Charging ahead, her feet are wet and frozen, her legs burn, her shirt is sweat-pasted to her skin, and her face stings. Her heart races. They can’t turn back. They aren’t getting anywhere. There’s no WiFi, internet, satellite, nothing, no way to call for help. He didn’t even check a map until yesterday. She was wearing fucking Uggs! In the middle of goddamn nowhere, the frozen fucking tundra where the frigid winds blowing off Lake Superior would freeze her to death, two days before Christmas.
Her parents were right. He was a dangerous daydreamer, a west coast brat who acted on impulse, off to Hawaii one minute, San Francisco the next, New York City after that, selfishly traipsing about on adventures without considering risk, safety, or what anybody else would say.
He invaded her life with his elite education, trashy best-selling novel, and that know-it-all attitude her friends hated so much. She was a good girl from North Dakota who was supposed to marry her high school sweetheart, buy a house, have a couple kids, and spend her life with family, friends and tradition. Tailgating, holidays, birthdays, state fairs, beer-league softball, a cozy schedule of monthly and annual events forever. She had none of that, and she was already twenty-five!
Then this guy arrived. He’s from California but grew up in Washington, worked as a chef but had a graduate degree, turned down a job as a crime analyst to move to the city, threw a book release party, then switched to a career in finance at a big firm downtown. He got four raises last year. His novel reached number one on two charts on Amazon. He had long hair and wild ideas, lived more lives than she could imagine, and he was barely thirty years old.
But remember when her mom Googled him? Bipolar. Sex, drug and alcohol memoir, criminal background, psychiatric hospitalization, and a full tattoo sleeve! Plus a kid, a son from a woman he didn’t marry! Mom was right, he was awful. Now he was going to get her killed, frozen to death in the middle of nowhere, Minnesota. Fuck!
“Hey!”
“What?”
“Get up here. Look!”
Every searing step and each icy breath to the top was a frigid, raspy nightmare.
“What?!”
“Look!”
The moonlit campsite glistened below, a picturesque cabin next to the frozen lake. They spent then next few days chopping wood, hiking, exploring, taking photos, cooking, talking, cuddling, making love, remembering why they were soulmates. On Christmas morning, Tiffany and Company helped ask. She said yes.
