"Do you think it'll ever stop snowing, Jen?" I asked her.
She was looking out the passenger's side window as we drove down a dark and lonely snow covered highway with a good six inches of snow and ice on it.
"Hmm..." she said, not turning to look at me. "Probably soon."
We drove onwards in silence for another half hour or so. I turned on the radio, but all I could pick up was an AM station that was playing classical violin.
The snow kept getting worse and worse. I could barely see the road anymore. Since we were up in the mountains, it was especially dangerous. I estimated we were someplace in northern Idaho.
"Do you think I should pull off to the side?" I asked her.
"Try to make it to
the next town," she said. "If we can get there maybe we can
get a hotel room or something."
I nodded. The orchestra pulled out long slow notes that seemed nothing short of ominous with the blinding snow.
Then a turn.
A turn seen too late.
A car turning too late.
We flew off the road, there was a good second or so of weightlessness as we went through the air and a sharp jolt when we hit a snow drift.
"Jenny! Jenny! are you alright?!" I asked her. She was staring straight out the windshield, white knuckled.
"I-I'm... fine..." she said, shaking a bit.
I cut the engine so we would not suffocate from the fumes.
Snow began to instantly pile up on the windshield with the wipers off.
"The heat is off now too," I said. "We'll have to keep warm some other way unless we want to die of carbon monoxide poisoning."
"Where is that blanket..." I turned around and searched the back seat. "Ah, here it is."
It was an old comforter that had been in the car since I had owned it, and probably long before that. It smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and the smell that exudes from the damp interior of an automobile.
"Climb into the back I told her."
"Hmm? Why?" She asked.
"So we can stay warm silly, we need to huddle together to keep our body heat, look:" I blew a puff of air. "I can already see my breath in here."
"Ah, okay." She unbuckled and climbed into the back seat, I did the same, lying next to her and covering us both with the too-big blanket.
We were staring at each other underneath the blanket.
"So... umm..." I started. This was an awkward position for me, I knew that she knew I liked her, and I was fairly certain my feelings weren't returned, but perhaps love could be born of necessity.
"This is kind of scary, isn't it?" she asked. "I mean, what if the snow covers us up and no one finds us."
"Do you have to be so morbid? Ah, well, I'm sure someone will find us once this lets up."
"So what do you want to do until then? Sleep?" I asked her.
"I'm not really tired." She said.
"Play a game?" I asked.
"Sure... OH! I know, let's play 'ask sera countless questions!'"
My favorite game, doubtless.
"Pennies or dimes?"
"Ham or chicken?"
"Tea or Coffee?"
This went on in a similar fashion for a long time. She never seemed to run out of things to ask, even though I was out in less than a minute.
After a while, it had started to get very noticeably colder, and I wrapped my arms around her for warmth. I hugged her close, feeling her soft body against mine. I was a bit taller than her, so I was holding her in my arms. It felt nice to feel her head resting against my chest. Feeling the resistance to each of the motions of my breaths.
We laid like this for a long time, I held her in my arms and we dozed there.
"mmm..." she mumbled.
"When we get out of here, what do you want to do?"
"mmm..." she mumbled again.
She seemed so cute and soft that I just wanted to hold her next to me forever, trying to make coversation, but not really wanting her to say anything.
After a while, I could feel her rhythmic breathing, and I knew she had fallen asleep.
"Jenny..." I whispered though I knew she was sleeping. I smelled her sweetness against the musty blanket.
"I love you..." I kissed the top of her head where her hair parted. I moved my arm a bit, so it wouldn't be asleep from her lying on it. Then I closed my eyes, lost myself in the nearness of her, and wandered off into the soft arms of sleep.