Surprise Rescue

“Ok, keep your eyes closed.” 

“Why do I have to keep my eyes closed? You have me on the phone,” Lyle said peering across the desolate park covered in fresh, sparkling powder. 

“Yeah, but it’s still a surprise. Ok, you’re behind the bushes near Skelton Park, right?”

“Yes. Lillian, I still don’t know why you dragged me out here. I’m on my lunch break and it’s as cold as a witch’s titty.” 

“Lyle, you know I hate that saying. Like, you know this.”

“Still funny.”

Lyle remained where she asked, but he peaked. This specifically requested path had taken him off the sidewalk, away from the rock salted cement, and directly into wet snow. The longer he stood in place, the more the crisp ice became a soppy puddle of mush, combining with the dirt and dead grass beneath. He was wearing Nike Killshots that weren’t expensive, but weren’t shoes to be worn in the snow. As he poked his head over the seemingly Kareem-Abdul Jabar-sized bush, he got caught. 

“Hey, what was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw that, you freaking peaked, what the hell?!”

“Lillian, I’m like barely 5’10” ok. I didn’t see anything. Can you please just let me come from behind this bush, the snow is seeping into my sneakers!”

“Yeah, yeah, you can look now.”

The young man finally trudged through the slush, causing his brown wool socks to dampen, and finally gazed upon the surprise. The pond in the middle of Skelton park was rigid, frozen over. Like the lake in Game of Thrones where the zombies were forced to halt an assault North of the Wall because they were afraid they’d fall through the ice and sink. There were freshly planted white signs that read: DANGER: DO NOT WALK ON THE POND. WE DO NOT HAVE A RESCUE TEAM. IT’S NOT IN THE TOWN BUDGET. Standing calmly in the middle of the pond was Lillian, wearing the tan UGG boots he’d bought her for Christmas. She stuck out in a sea of white, with her bright pink bomber and red beanie; she was a huge fan of the Cincinnati Reds. 

“Lillian,” Lyle said, still on the phone with a tone of serious concern. “What are you thinking?! There are signs!” his hands motioned toward the sarcastic warnings.

“Oh come save me, you strapping lad, you,” she said with the kind of dramatic acting a freshman deploys at high school’s season premier.

“Dude, this is seriously messed up. You’re standing on a frozen pond. You could totally fall through.”

“Right. That’s why you’re here -- to come rescue me. Now hurry, I can feel the ice cracking, oh no!” she said, adding a hint of damsel in distress this time.

“Okay, your acting is awful Lillian. Like Nicholas Cage in a B-movie bad. Like The Wicker Man. Just slowly slide toward me and off the ice. I’ll rescue you on semi-dry land.” 

She was pissed. 

“Wow Lyle. Just wow. I put this whole thing together to make you feel like a superhero and this is the thanks I get?”

He was confused. Never once in his many conversations with his long term girlfriend did he give her the impression he wanted to be a hero. In two years of dating, the most heroic thing he’d done was help the neighbor’s kid Shelly get her cat down from a tree; it was a bonsai tree on a different neighbor’s porch. Shelly didn’t even ask him to rescue the cat, he simply heard it meowing late one night and rushed outside to “shut it up.” Lyle never stood up for anyone, including himself. In high school, a school bully named Jacob stepped on his shoes and Lyle apologized for scuffing the bottom of Jacob’s Doc Martens. Lyle was no hero. He pushed paper at an insurance firm, selling policies to elderly couples and parents of 16-year old drivers. He woke up everyday at 5 a.m. to run two-miles around the neighborhood, before taking a shower and putting on an ill-fitting suit. He drove a 2009 Kia Forte and sang Queen songs to and from work, but never with the windows down -- he was too embarrassed by his singing voice. 

“Babe, I’m fairly certain I’ve never asked to be put in a situation to be heroic. I blush during the fight scenes in comic book movies. Besides, superheroes have powers.” 

“What’s your point?”

“Well, if I could fly, I’d happily scoop you up.” 

“So you don’t want to save me? You’d rather me fall through this ice and die than come save me?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Well I don’t see you walking, do I?”

Lyle looked at the ice and thought to himself: Why am I dating this absolute madwoman? He tried to think of other times Lillian had done things this irresponsible, but only came up with a list of moderate risk taking: ordering fish at chain restaurants; turning down insurance on rental cars; and eating eggs past their expiration date. He took a deep breath and began to stretch. He touched his toes and put his arms behind his neck. First the left arm, then the right. He began to do squats. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m stretching. I need to be limber on the ice, right? Otherwise I’ll be all tight and sink right through.”

“I don’t think stretching will change whether or not you fall through.”

“Well, Lillian, I mean, God dammit. Do you have a suggestion here?”

“Yeah, just wa…”

“Please don’t say ‘just walk over here.’”

“You have to believe in love,” she said without pause, sounding as if she’d just this morning rehearsed stale romantic comedy lines in the rearview mirror. Probably on the way to her death march to the center of this frozen pond. 

“You sound ridiculous right now. This whole thing is ridiculous,” he said waving his arm around. “Like, it feels like you’re pranking me or something. Is this some reality bit? Are we doing a Tik Tok right now?”

“I'm getting cold. Are you coming or not?”

Lyle took another deep breath, the kind where cold air drop kicks you in the chest causing a sudden and sharp pang. He looked down at his Killshots and apologized, saying sorry to each bright blue checkmark on both shoes. He didn’t want hypothermia. He didn’t want to be one of those people you see on the nightly news wrapped in one of those special blankets reserved for the few who were once submerged in a frozen pond. He didn’t want to be in the papers either: Man Rescues Girlfriend From Frozen Pond, or worse: Man Fails to Rescue Girlfriend, Sinks to the Bottom of Frozen Pond. Lyle just wanted to go home, roll a joint and watch Big Brother reruns with Lillian. But to get there, he knew he’d have to go get her. “As careful as a baby kitten,” he muttered. 

His first step was a disaster. The gum sole of his left shoe softly touched the slippery floor and his body nearly slammed through the fragile ice.

“Ok, I’m turning back.” 

“What!?” she shouted, as the two had hung up their phones. 

“I’m turning back, this is bullshit!”

“Oh great, just great, well, you know what Lyle!”

“What?!”

“I’m dumpin--”

Lillian fell through the floor before she could cleanly break up with him. Lyle frantically ran across the ice. The Killshots held up their end of the shoe-man agreement, providing a smooth step and just enough balance to keep him upright. When he arrived at his flailing girlfriend(?), he grabbed her mittened hand and yanked her up. As he pulled and strained, he remembered all the times he’d collapsed during tug of war games in grade school. If only the coach could see him tugging now. As her body rested across his lap, she shook like an overcharged vibrator. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her narrow shoulders. He replaced her Reds beanie with his Browns beanie. The sound of her teeth chattering overtook the silence of the park. And after some deep breaths, she finally looked up at him. There saw what she was thinking behind the vibrant green eyes he’d fallen in love with at the local arcade: my hero. He smiled and nodded, and leaned toward her right ear. 

"No Lill. I'm dumping you."