Chapter 2

As soon as I realized what I’d done, I pulled at the door handle, jiggling it feverishly. I succeeded at getting it open nearly an inch when my left fingers slipped. Instinctively, my right hand reached to catch it, and in that same moment, traction gave way beneath me, pulling me into the door and slamming it shut on three of my right fingers. Or maybe it was four. The ache was moving more slowly than it normally would due to the wintry temperatures.

I couldn’t tell if the snap I heard was was from my fingers or was the sound of the door handle slinging shut. I let out a short, curdling scream, perhaps a few curse words that I won’t admit to, and proceeded to inhale slowly and deeply, consciously imagining the pain releasing out of my fingertips. Visualization. I’d heard of it. I wasn’t entirely sure this is what it was though.

Within seconds, the pain had moved deep into my fingertips and settled into a slowly pulsating throb.

Visualization was for the birds.

*

Even if I could’ve wedged the door open more than a few inches than before, my pulsating fingers couldn’t handle the pressure now. At least the coldness will soon numb the pain.

As the reality of the situation sank in–as well as the pain, I was beside myself. I had no idea where I was beyond being in Mechanicsville. And other than passing the sign for the town hundreds of times on the way to and from my grandparents home over the years, I’d never actually stopped there to find out what sort of place it was. Was I in the middle of an empty town? A small city? Was there a Main Street? Was this it? Was there a gas station within walking distance? How many miles had I already been driving in this neighborhood, and how many more would it be before an exit could be found?

And of course the biggest question. What was I going to do now?

I knew what was behind me. Miles of unplowed roads, houses, and a virtually empty main drag. I didn’t know what was before me, so I walked on. Trudging through the ever deepening snow, I looked around for the couples I had seen just fifteen minutes prior. Or maybe it was much longer than fifteen minutes. I really wasn’t sure. Not one one in sight.

I thought about my students as I moved. I pondered my lack of available sick days due to family illnesses and at last, sighed over the supposition that I couldn’t really control this situation exactly. Though I wasn’t quite convinced of this fact. I also wasn’t quite convinced I wouldn’t make it back in time for morning classes. Worry over how I would contact the school to get a sub filled me: While trapped. On foot. In a snowstorm. In a strange city. Alone. In the middle of the night.

Anxiety crept over me. Anxiety over my messy desk and the sudden presence of an unexpected stranger judging me. Touching my desk. Organizing my stacks. I shuddered at the thought. Seeing my soon to be three day old half cup of coffee left over from Friday morning still sitting on my desk. Would serve them right if they touched my stacks, I thought, grimacing at the thought.

Suddenly aware of the frosty wetness seeping into my shoes, leaving my toes with a bitter cold burning sensation, made me keenly aware of the deranged mental health of teachers. I shook the thoughts from my head and continued on.

Once again, I wondered where the people were who had been strolling through the snow earlier. Looking around, I realized very little was in sight. The snowfall and wind speed had picked up somewhere between smashing my fingers and having vengeful thoughts towards my future substitute teacher and all the intelligent people had taken cover in their homes. The rest of us were wearing ice sculptures shaped as tennis shoes, no socks, and slowly moving into the first stages of hypothermia.

The severity of the situation hadn’t quite hit me.

But a high speed wooden toboggan did.

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