A Long Fierce Winter

This winter was brutal. Way too much snow for my liking. Not the kind of weather for birdwatching or counting blades of grass one by one.

It was a season for multiple mugs of hot cocoa or chai lattes. Since I’m not much of a Bible (or Torah, more appropriately) kind of guy, I finally took the plunge into Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive. I’m nearing the end of The Way of Kings and completely hypnotized by it.

Something about the book—and the cold—got me thinking of Doug. Was he warm? How was he getting his meals? Was the hike up the hill to the High Falls Food Co-op too slippery?

Then, finally, a break in the weather. Yesterday, I thawed out my feet, shoved them into boots, and walked to Doug’s. When he didn’t answer twenty seconds after my knock, I pounded harder. I nearly knocked the paint off the door.

The floorboards creaked—proof of life. He flung the door open and barked, “What?” like I’d come to sell him moldy Girl Scout cookies.

“You’re alive,” I said.

“Were you hoping I wasn’t?” he shot back, then waved me in.

We—well, I—attempted to hold a conversation. But something was blaring in the background. “Background” might not be the right word. My voice was in the background. The narrator of Lonesome Dove echoed through the entire house. No wonder Doug hadn’t heard me knocking.

Finding the audiobook’s source was a challenge, buried under his usual piles of junk. A whole chapter might have gone by before I spotted it. I pressed pause, but to Doug, I might as well have detonated a nuclear bomb.

“What are you doing?” he hollered. “I was listening to that.”

“I’m here, Doug. Thought we could chat.”

“I’m not in the mood to chat today,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow. Or next weekend. I should be finished with the book by then.”

The sky was overcast, and the thermometer read 62º, but I was shivering. My teeth clanked together, and for a second, I worried Doug had passed something contagious to me.

It turned out that it was just his grumpiness. Which, in turn, fueled a strong urge to destroy. Nearly ten overstuffed wheelbarrows of firewood later, I guess I’m ready for next winter. Ugh.