A Year of Winter

seven

October 19th, 2012

 

“Winter, where are we?”

She drove along a gravel road, rocky and bumpy which made the tiny car teeter back and forth with uncertainty. After all, Winter wasn’t exactly the safest driver to begin with, and had nearly driven us into five signs and several pedestrians already.

But I also had no clue where we were going. I’d lived in the Buffalo area my entire life, and yet I’d never even caught a glimpse of the country-esque landscape painted in front of us.

We’d been driving for about thirty minutes when I asked Winter that question. She looked at me quickly, her gaze fleeting, like everything else about her. She smirked, “Does it really matter?”

“Yes, I suppose it does, if we want to get back.” I quipped, on the edge of my seat from anticipation as well as worry.

“Maybe I don’t want to get back,” she said matter-of-factly. This was the first time I’d heard the slightest hint of hurt in her voice. I looked at her, perplexed, but as she went on, the hurt dissolved into a smile. She was a good actress, “Maybe I’ve brought you all the way out here to kill and murder you. Then I’m to run away and change my name and move to Switzerland.”

I looked at her with wide eyes, “Winter, are you okay?” I asked her. Her hands looked a bit shaky on the steering wheel.

She nodded, pushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. She turned onto the next unmarked road, embarking onto a long stretch of land blanketed by a canopy of trees against a background of freckled stars. She seemed to be driving us further and further north, into the middle of nowhere, a place I’d yet to see.

Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel, “I’m fine, Book Boy.”

“You’re driving pretty fast.”

“It’s an open road, so what? Plus, I always drive fast.”

I wondered if Winter drove fast because she liked it, or because she wanted escape something. But I didn’t ask her because I knew she wouldn’t like it. She didn’t like a lot of the questions I asked her; instead, I switched topics, hoping we’d reach the destination soon so I wouldn’t be so curious anymore and I’d have to stop stalling my actual questions.

“Um, Winter, about last week—”

“—forget about it.” She interjected, her quickness to forgive and forget surprising me. I looked at her, my eyes wide, her face shaded by the darkness of the encroaching night. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for leaving like that. It just wasn’t a good day.”

I wanted to know why, but I stifled my curiosity for the sake of not being yelled at. “So, where were you for the past week?”

She licked her lips and shrugged, “A little bit of everywhere.”

“Do you disappear a lot like that?”

I saw her silhouette swallow, looking almost on worried in the shade of the night. She licked her lips, her eyes glued to the open road ahead of us. As the sun sank further, she turned on her high beams to illuminate the path ahead of us.

“When I want to,” was all she said.

Silently, I wondered how often that was.

I sank back into my seat cushion, watching in the rearview mirror as civilization disappeared behind us. I had nowhere to go; nowhere to be, but still, a pang of worry hit me that someone might look for me, and not be able to find me. But then I reminded myself that Noelle and Andrew would be the only ones to ever do that. And they had each other; that was enough to keep themselves preoccupied for a Friday night, at least long enough to not worry about me.