for another dose of heat.
I thought back
to waking up
on the couch
at five in the morning
in the matchbox house,
and what I wouldn’t give
to be back there
again.
Vic and I
exchanged some words
about how much
we did and didn’t sleep
and joked about
breakfast.
I ordered pancakes with bacon,
while she thought a
a Spanish omelet
sounded good.
Then
it was deathly quiet
in the darkness
until she said,
“Ali, I want you to know, um—
I really do love your father. A lot.”
“I know.”
“And I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you.
It’s all new to me.
Like it is to you.”
She sounded
sincere.
“From what he tells me,” she went on,
“your mom was a great woman.”
She paused.
Then she said,
“She sounds like someone I would have liked.”
Ivy started to fuss,
so Vic pulled up her sweater
and put her there,
secretly hoping,
I’m sure,
that Ivy was getting
more than just comfort.
“She was awesome,” I whispered
as we listened to Ivy’s
little suckling sounds.
“You know those sketches?” I continued.
“On my bed that day?
Those were hers.
I found them, locked in her desk.”
“Really?
Why were they were locked away?”
I’d thought about that.
About what that meant,
and why she didn’t give them to me,
even if they weren’t finished.
I think it’s like my music.
“Sometimes it’s just too personal,” I told Vic.
I think she drew
those sketches at a time
when she was really hurting.
Thinking about leaving me
and wishing,
on paper,
she didn’t have to.
Kinda like
my songs.
Me writing them,
thinking about her leaving me,
and wishing,
through music,
she didn’t have to.
Except maybe
Claire was right.
Maybe I’ve been wishing
long enough.
I hope he knows
As snow filled the air,
Blaze filled my thoughts.
With every breath,
my heart ached
to see him again,
to touch him again,
to hold him again.
What if
I never saw him again?
Did he know
how much I loved him?
Did he
really
and truly
know?
Victoria noticed
when quiet tears
trickled out.
“Ali?”
“I should have done it.”
“Done what?”
“He got us a hotel room.
On his birthday.
But I couldn’t do it.”
She put Ivy
in her car seat,
then moved over
so she sat
next to me.
“I just hope he knows
how much I love him,” I told her.
“Ali,” she said,
“you don’t do it to prove your love.
Saying no means you love yourself and him.
Besides, he obviously adores you.
He let you decide.
And it didn’t change anything between you.
Right?”
I nodded.
“The way you look at him?” she said,
wrapping her arm around me
and pulling me to her.
“He knows.
Believe me, he knows.”
day three
The snow
was getting
deeper
and
deeper.
The air
was getting
colder
and
colder.
were getting
lower
and
l
o
w
e
r.
“I have to go for help,” Victoria said,
looking out the window
at the vast display of whiteness.
“You won’t make it.
It’s too cold.”
She looked at me.
“I have to try.
If I don’t, none of us will make it.”
I offered to go,
so it was me
making the sacrifice
instead of her.
But she shook her head.
“No. I got us into this.
I’ll get us out.”
“Victoria, you’re Ivy’s mother.
She needs you.
She needs your milk.
I have to go.
Don’t argue.
I’m going.”
I started to pull out clothes to wear,
when she grabbed my arm.
I had never seen her
so stern.
“Ali, I don’t have much milk left.
And besides, it doesn’t matter.
I’m the grown-up here.
I can’t send you out there.
I can’t.
It has to be me.”
I looked at her,
at Ivy,
and then
at the monster
outside.
It felt like
my insides
were being ripped
out of my chest.
“Don’t go,” I sobbed.
“Just stay here.
They’ll find us, like you said.
They will.
We have to stay together.”
She shook her head again.
“If they haven’t found us by now,
it means we’re hard to find.
I’m going.
And you will stay and take care of Ivy.
You can do it.”
Good thing
Confident
was her middle name,
because it certainly
wasn’t
mine.
out of our cold hands
We put layer
upon layer
of clothes
on her,
along with my
boots.
I hoped
those boots
would be as good to her
as they had been
to me.
She had brought her heavy coat,
which we were thankful for.
I searched the car
to see if there was anything
else she could take
to help her
on her journey.
Wishful thinking.
Why didn’t Dad
put a roadside
emergency kit
in the car?
How could we travel
all that way
and not have one?
I kept searching,
and when my hand
touched something
hard and cold,
underneath the backseat,
I pulled it out.
A flashlight.
It wasn’t a lot.
But it was something.
“Are you sure you don’t want it?” Vic asked me.
“You might be scared by yourself.”
I shook my head
and placed it in her hand,
mine wrapping around hers
for just a second.
I made her eat
the rest of the chips
before she left,
and she drank lots of water
plus a little brandy.
We talked about Ivy
and keeping her fed
and warm
and all the other things
a baby needs.
When she looked at me,
her tongue curled up,
I saw fear
in her eyes.
But I saw
determination there
too.
And when she looked at her baby daughter,
I didn’t see a tongue-curling chameleon anymore.
I saw
one thing
and one thing
only.
A kind,
loving
mother.
I thought of my mom
and how hard she fought
with love
in her heart
for us.
Maybe it’s not about
determination
or love
or how hard
you can fight.
Maybe it’s just about
fate
and what is meant
to be.
And so,
when I really
didn’t know what to say,
I told her,
“Good luck,”
as she hugged me good-bye.
Because
that was probably what
she needed most
in that moment.
“If I don’t make it—”
“Don’t talk like that,” I told her.
“You’ll find help and you’ll get us out of here.”
Then it occurred to me
she probably needed
something else
in that moment.
“Dad would be proud of you, Vic.
He loves you. He really does.”
She nodded.
“Come back to us,” I said.
I really,
really
meant it.
gone
I watched her walk
until her silhouette
was swallowed up
by the forest
and there was
once again
nothing to see
but white.
Words and a melody
popped into my brain—
a song
asking to be
written.
I grabbed my guitar
and sang it out loud to Ivy,
who watched and listened,
like she totally loved it.
“Walking away with love in your heart,
hoping the coldness won’t keep us apart.
“Playing the memories like songs in my head.
Things we’ve shared and words we’ve said.
“Don’t drift away.
I want you to stay.
Don’t drift away.
You really should stay.
Don’t drift away.
Please…
come back to stay.”
a snow-angel friend
The formula,
the water,
and the food
weren’t the only things
we’d been stingy with.
We’d been treating the diapers
like a precious commodity,
making Ivy wear them
as long as possible.
When we went to our
make-believe
outhouse in the snow,
we took the used diapers
with us.
Ivy drifted off to sleep,
so I used the opportunity
to bundle up
and head to our
special tree,
diaper in hand.
The clouds above
had cleared slightly
and the snow
had stopped falling
for the moment.
I took just a second
to appreciate
the pure beauty
around me.
I felt sad
that I couldn’t
enjoy it
by building a snowman
or making snow angels.
And then I thought,
Why can’t I?
I flopped down on the ground
into the fresh powder,
my arms and legs
gliding back and forth.
When I stood up,
I looked down at the angel,
white and delicate,
like lace.
A guardian angel
for us.
alice in winter wonderland
In the afternoon,
when Ivy started fussing
and I’d fed her
some formula
and there was nothing else
I could do,
I pulled out the antique book
and started reading.
My voice
or the story
or something
calmed her,
and so we settled in.
I read about Alice
d
r
o
p
p
i
n
g
down the rabbit hole
and growing small
and growing big
and growing small again.
Alice was
by herself
down that hole.
She wanted
to follow
the rabbit
so bad,
but she wasn’t able to.
I’m pretty sure
I knew
exactly
how she felt.
from bad to worse
So thirsty,
I drank
the last few drops
of remaining water.
My hand
became a shovel
as I scooped snow
into one of Ivy’s
bottles.
It seemed somewhat
ironic that what could kill us
would now keep us
alive.
Except,
I quickly discovered,
there would be no heat
if the car
wouldn’t start.
And without heat,
there would be
no water.
grow wings, little one
Every hour
it got colder.
I felt it
when I went out
to the bathroom.
I tried
on and off
into the evening
to start the car.
Even though
it still had
some gas,
it just wouldn’t
start.
Too
freaking
cold.
Ivy
fell into
a deep sleep.
I put her
in the sleeping bag
and thought of her
as a caterpillar,
snuggled up
in her cocoon.
I watched her,
then closed my eyes
and saw
a little girl,
her brown hair
flapping in the wind,
the yellow sun
kissing her face
as she ran around
in our yard.
Sleep,
little one,
sleep.
Grow strong,
and grow wings.
The world
is waiting for you.
sometimes prayers do work
Like an old man
waking from a long nap,
the motor sputtered and coughed,
and finally turned over.
Like an old woman
coming inside from a rainstorm,
I breathed a sigh of relief.
After I melted the snow,
I took a couple sips
of water
and then I made Ivy
a bottle.
I had never been
so glad
to see a bottle
completely
emptied.
believe
Help did not come
like I hoped it would.
Darkness
surrounded us,
and without Victoria
there to talk to,
the silence
was almost
maddening.
I thought of her
walking alone
in the dark
and I wanted to scream
from all the fear,
anger,
and sadness I felt.
I would start to imagine
the worst,
but then I’d make myself imagine
a different picture.
It looked something like this: