Life at the Speed of Us

by Heather Sappenfield

“Brown,” little-me said, pointing at a brown butterfly.

  I had always said bown.

  “Bread,” little-me said.

  “Very good!” Mom said.

  I had always said bed.

  “Bear,” little-me said.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “We saw a bear yesterday, didn’t we?”

  “Babies,” little-me said.

  “Yes, a momma bear with babies. Remember, always stay away from bears, especially momma bears.”

  “Bambi was a baby.”

  “What a smart girl! See what you can do? You said four Bs. Did you hear them?”

  I pressed my palm hard against the spruce’s rough bark to feel I was really there. I faintly recalled this day, but this little-me had no trouble with R or L. I felt jealous all the way to my fingertips.

  “Mom!” I called.

  She looked up, and little-me scrabbled into her lap, right on top of the book. Butt. Mom wrapped her arms over little-me and scanned around.

  “Over here, Mom!”

  Her gaze found me, and she leaned forward, making little-me lean too.

  “Who’s there?” Her voice held fear. I wobbled. She seemed to recognize Dad’s old hat, and I realized the Christmas where she’d given it to him would have just passed in my world. She gawked at my face.

  “It’s me. Sov.”

  “Sov?”

  “I’m eighteen now.”

  Her head tilted and she paled.

  “Momma?” little-me said.

  Mom looked from the me in her lap to the tree-me. Her mouth sagged open. “Sovern?”

  “I miss you!” I said.

  “Miss me?”

  I hadn’t considered this. I couldn’t tell her she’d died.

  Mom leaned on one arm, gathered her legs, and stood, little-me on her hip. First steps hesitant, she walked toward me, careful across the slanted ground, the lumps of grass, the flowers and the dirt bulges from voles, till she stood about six feet away. I drank in her brown eyes.

  She tallied the curves of my face, my body’s stature beneath my snow pants and parka. “You’re so tall.” She smiled.

  “Momma?” Little-me looked like she might be sick.

  Mom stepped forward. “What happened to your arm?”

  As I opened my mouth to answer, a hand press over mine against that trunk.

  Chill wind. White against my face.

  Snow cradling my body.

  I punched with my one arm, not seeing what I was hitting, just striking out. “Go away, Gage!” My fist connected with the dark green of a liftie jacket. I saw the side-turned face, the hands forcing my shoulders down. I dropped my arm, breathing a train’s rhythm. Súmáí locked my gaze.

  “Sovern,” he said and shook his head no. The ends of his hair brushed my face.

  I bucked my body and released a sound of pure fury.

  “Sovern!” he said. His eyes said, Calm down. His grip hurt my wrists. Churned snow chilled my neck, upper lip, and cheek. He may not have been much taller than me, but he was way more muscular and so strong. I turned my head to the side. I’d been talking to Mom! She’d been right there!

  Súmáí climbed off and offered his hand to help me up, but I slapped it away. I struggled out of our crater, and he chuckled. I brushed snow off my chest and legs.

  “Screw you!” I said.

  At the tone of my words, his face turned stern. He held up two fingers on his right hand, like Wash had. I thought of Wash’s two fingers pointing from his eyes to me and blinked back how much I knew this moment would disappoint him. Súmáí pointed from me to the spruce with his left hand, those fingers on his right still up, and he shook his head fiercely. He did it one more time, and then he ran that palm across the open meadow. He touched the first fingers of both hands together in front of his face and shot them apart, moving his arms up and out. An explosion?

  I squinted despite my sunglasses. I pointed to my chest, to the spruce, and then copied his sign for explosion. I raised an eyebrow.

  He shook his head. He held up two fingers, pointed from me to where little-me had been in the meadow, and mimed that explosion again.

  I understood. Me + me = bang. I groaned and brought my hand to my fluttering innards.

  His face softened to a compassion I would never have expected, and my sight turned misty. I stepped back, feeling drained, and realized he was loose in my world and apparently very real. I assessed him in that liftie uniform.

  My head was fritzing. Angry with everything, I said, “Crystal Mountain doesn’t allow male employees to have long hair or earrings. And they have to shower.”

  I snowshoed to where Mom and little-me had sat on the blanket. I stepped right where I imagined Mom had been, plopped into the snow, and wriggled my butt till I pressed out her lap. Súmáí followed in my tracks, postholing with every step. He stood beside me, looking out at the valley, the river, the interstate snaking along it, the frontage road, the houses, and the shops.

  “I wish we could talk.” I kept my eyes on the panorama. “I have so many questions.”

  I could feel him study me with a familiarity that was unnerving. After a while, he sat down too.

  I eyed his moccasins. Another giveaway that he wasn’t really a liftie. His feet must have been freezing.

  We sat for a while, and I felt Súmáí study Dad’s hat. He wasn’t wearing a hat. Maybe he was envying it. He looked at my profile next, and though I tried to force it down, red inched up my neck. I flinched at the slight tug as he took my hair in his fingers and rubbed it, the frost falling away.

  He unzipped his parka, releasing his sweat scent, and I forced myself not to cover my nose as I saw his leather shirt within. He lifted his amulet bag and drew out two quills. Ours, no doubt. He pointed from me to him, and then up toward the branches of the spruce. He pressed his fingertips lightly against his cheek as if he were making dots. How could he know this about me? Did he witness my accident? Then, in the sun’s clarifying light, I saw tiny holes patterned his cheek.

  My breath caught. I pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head and studied his face closer. My sling palm came to my own holes. Cautiously, I brought my fingertips to his cheek. His skin was warmed by the sun, and so smooth compared to the spruce’s bark. His flesh felt absolutely real as he nodded and held up two fingers again. Then he crossed them and stole my breath.

  Súmáí’s gaze shot over my shoulder, and he straightened at the same instant I heard schussing. My hand fell from his cheek as Gage snowboarded past us, his mouth a zero.

  “Dammit!” I watched him snake turns down our powder stash.

  As he arced back toward the area’s boundary and the lift, Súmáí echoed, “Dam-mit.”

  My head snapped to him.

  “Dammit?” He pointed toward where Gage had been.

  I laughed and bit my lip. “Dammit,” I said, giving Gage a new name, and expanding our world to three words.

  Bookmark:

  Time Dilation

  The faster a clock moves through space,

  the slower it moves through time. If a clock

  could travel at the speed of light, its time

  would stop. A beam of light is timeless.

  17

  Súmáí ascended Sunset Ridge beside me. He was leery about walking along the run’s edge, not so much from the skiers and boarders, I sensed, but from needing to lurk in shadow. I didn’t have the energy for slogging through the forest, though, so I’d tucked his hair into his coat, made him take off his earrings, and loaned him Dad’s hat. Now, in his uniform, he looked like any one of the army of lifties who worked on Crystal Mountain. I breathed hard, but for Súmáí the ascent seemed easy.

  He eyed every person sailing down Sunset Ridge, especially the tiny strips of their faces between their goggles and coat collars. He’d seen my
white skin, but had he seen it on other people? Was he surprised by how much of it he saw now? A guy with dreadlocks snowboarded past, and Súmáí stopped and watched him glide into the distance.

  City Center’s lodge appeared ahead. Bringing Súmáí into the Emerald West or City Center lodges had a high probability for disaster. I decided to take him to the cabin instead. It was the only warm private place I could think of, and Dad never came home till after five, especially on weekends.

  I glanced at Súmáí moving effortlessly beside me, and wondered what the hell I was doing, bringing home the boogieman from my childhood. Yet back in Shangri-La, when he’d pulled me from Mom, his face had held such compassion, and quill holes marked his cheeks. Most of all, he was walking around in my world. If he could walk around here, maybe I could move freely in one of Mom’s universes. I needed answers.

  We veered into the forest, and he seemed to relax. My stomach grumbled. All we had in the cabin were Crispy’s lemon bars, and those might scare Súmáí off, so I decided to stop off at the coffee shop in the lodge for a snack. When we were across from it, I gestured for him to wait. I’m not sure why I trusted him to stay there, but I did. I unstrapped my snowshoes and carried them under my arm. The coffee shop served sandwiches and soups, but since it was after 3:00, they’d been put away, and workers were sterilizing the stainless steel counters. One of the perks of Dad’s job was a monthly food allowance for his family; I settled for two hot chocolates, a bag of potato chips, and a blond brownie—my favorite foods on the mountain.

  As I left the lodge, I glanced around for a ski-patrol coat but against all odds saw none. Súmáí waited in the trees. He took the snowshoes from under my arm, to make walking with the drinks easier for me, and I led him till we were screened by the cupped hand of pines. Little brown geysers sloshed out the mouth holes of the hot chocolates’ lids from my gangly steps. I walked to the cabin door, set down the cups, and pressed in the key code.

  I opened the door, and when I looked back, it was just like when I was five years old again, because there on the edge of the forest was that scary Ute … yet in liftie clothes from my world, from my mountain. He became scary in a whole new way.

  Jittery, I gestured with my head for him to join me. A minute later, he prowled through the door. I closed it. I set down the food, went to the bedroom, and made sure the window opened easily in case Súmáí needed to fit through in a pinch. I showed him the escape route, and he flashed a smile. It was more about protecting Dad, though.

  “Hungry?” I said.

  I peeled off my snow boots and jacket, hung them by the door, and gestured for Súmáí to do the same. He frowned and shook his head.

  “Hungry?” I said again. I moved the hot chocolates in front of two chairs.

  Súmáí prowled around the cabin. He studied the coats, the couch, the TV, the kitchen. He peered into the bedroom again, poised like someone might attack him. He studied me at the table. I took a sip of hot chocolate and pointed to the other white paper cup, then to him.

  He assessed the chair, pulled it back like mine, and sat on its edge. He ran his fingers over the table’s grain. The tulips in the table’s center caught his attention. He reached out, ran his finger up one’s petal, and smelled it, wearing an amazed expression. In that hat, the earrings gone, his tucked-in hair seeming shoulder length, he appeared more ordinary, and I became aware of the symmetry of his face.

  I lifted the cup, demonstrating how to drink from the hole. Súmáí lifted his, smelled it, and took a sip. His face shifted with surprise. Good? Bad? I couldn’t tell. His brows pressed close, and he sipped again. His brows lifted. He sipped once more and grimaced. He set the cup down.

  I laughed and he shot me a dirty look. He yanked off the hat and set it on the table. He wasn’t good-looking, not like Gage.

  I unwrapped the brownie, spread its cellophane flat, and broke it into pieces. I popped brownie into my mouth. It was sweet and chewy, with chocolate chips and walnuts. Súmáí picked up a piece and smelled it. He held it away from his face and studied it. He carefully placed it in his mouth. His eyebrows rose again, but not quite so much. He spit it out in his hand.

  I lunged to the counter, tore off a paper towel, and set it before him. He grew transfixed by its little pastel cabin pattern. I gestured for him to dump what was in his hand on it. He seemed to doubt whether he should do that, staring at the repeat of little cabins on the paper towel’s edge, but finally did. I wadded up the paper towel and dumped it in the trash.

  I opened the bag of potato chips, just regular ones. I drew one out and crunched it. I offered him a chip. He didn’t take it, rather studied it pinched between my fingers. He finally took it and held it up in the sunlight. He smelled it and bit half off. He sucked on it and a slow smile spread on his face.

  I ran a glass of water at the tap and set it before him. As he traced its side, something in my chest tugged. He lifted the glass, smelled the water, and took a sip. He grinned. He held the glass up to the light, studying it, and a little rainbow arced on the table.

  Súmáí downed the water, and the motion of his Adam’s apple drove home, more than anything else, that he was alive and real and sitting in my cabin. My skin prickled.

  He strode to the sink. I joined him, numb all over, and turned the cold knob. He held his hand underneath the tap and laughed. He cupped his palms, filled them, and took a long drink. He straightened, shaking his head in wonder. I turned off the knob.

  “Water,” I said.

  “Wat-er,” he said.

  He reached out and turned the knob on and off. I nudged him, turned the hot knob, and put my hand under the tap. He put his hand under it and yanked it back. He looked at me like I’d played a trick on him. I mixed the hot and cold so they wouldn’t burn and put both my hands underneath. He stuck one finger in and then both of his hands. I turned the water off, dried my hands on the dish towel, and handed it to him. As he dried his hands, he looked around the room with sorrowful eyes. Eyes like mine after I’d lost Mom. To give him space, I sat at the table and pressed my fingertips hard into my lips to make things feel real. I needed a way to find out what he knew.

  Súmáí came to stand behind his chair. He said something. No clue what, but from his expression, from the look he gave me, it must have been so sad. He moved to the door.

  “You’re leaving?” I was right behind him. “Wait!”

  He paused, but I had no clue how to make him stay. He reached toward the doorknob. Desperate, I retrieved the hat from the table and held it out. He eyed it for a full minute. He took it and traced his fingers over its wool. He pulled it on his head.

  We stood there like that, not moving, yet so close.

  “Towéiyak,” he finally said. It seemed like thank you. From his amulet bag, he drew a quill and held it out.

  I took it. “Towéiyak?” I said.

  Súmáí nodded.

  He zipped his coat. Some of his hair had come loose from the collar, and I tucked it back inside. We stood there again, still so close. He touched my quill cheek. I couldn’t make my eyes handle this intimacy, and I looked down.

  He opened the door and scanned the cabin’s surroundings before walking away without looking back. I watched him disappear into the forest before I realized I was standing there in the cold with the door wide open.

  I stepped inside and shut the door. I studied the quill he’d given me; its pattern was exactly like my quills. I stood there a long time, my stunned mind groping for something sane to hold on to.

  Someone pressed on the door’s keypad. It swung open, and Dad stepped in. Like a little kid, I hid that quill behind my back. Dad stopped, startled by my standing so close to the door.

  “What’s up, Sovern?” He looked exhausted. His face was so drawn it seemed chiseled from stone. He resembled the shadow on Phantom Peak, and that just about broke my heart. Súmáí’s touch on my cheek
was still fresh. I was such a liar—if Dad knew what had just passed in this room, he’d stumble to a chair, collapse into it, and cry like the day of my accident. I remembered his hand over the nub of my own beneath that tarp. How could I do this to him?

  As I stood there, looking at Dad, Súmáí hardly seemed real. Maybe that quill pinched between my fingers was actually my own. I slid it into my back pocket. No matter what was real, I was descending into a grid of lies.

  “I’m glad to see you, Dad.” My voice cracked.

  That made him smile, and though it wasn’t a lie, I felt like the biggest scum alive.

  Bookmark:

  Quantum Mechanics

  Max Planck

  Energy does not flow in a steady continuum, but is delivered in discrete amounts. Planck named these quanta. They explain why a burning item will seem to move between distinctly different colors.

  18

  Early Monday morning, I sat on a snowmobile behind Wash, my one good arm clinging to his waist as he drove down Sunset Ridge toward the gondola. It had snowed on top of last night’s grooming, a quick storm leaving a layer of snow so dry it felt like fine sand spraying against our parkas as we zoomed along. A steady stream of horizontal tears leaked across my temples. The tips of my ears were stinging from the cold. I pulled up my hood and pressed my head against Wash’s back to hold it in place. I wriggled my toes in my Converse but couldn’t feel them.

  Last January, when I’d gotten my second-semester schedule, I’d moaned at not having a first-hour class because it meant I had a longer day, and I’d wanted to escape to the mountain in the afternoons. Now I considered the ironies of life, since it gave me more time to get to school.

  Wash pulled up to the Emerald West lodge. “Learn somethin’ good,” he said.

  “I’ll try.” I sighed.

  “You all right? You look beat.”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  But I wasn’t. I’d stared at the bedroom ceiling all night, searching it for advice as those spruce trees had beckoned to my skin, my bones, even my innards. Yet I knew Dad would hate this, that it would lead to lies. I’d stared at my palm too, studying my lifeline in the dark and sensing that pressing my palm to those trees would make my life’s line curve down. I’d finally dozed off near morning, but woke, still torn, till I saw Dad, refreshed and chuckling at one of Wash’s jokes as he stood in the light streaming through the kitchen window.