Valerie’s Fall

For two days, Valerie had stared at the ground from high above, watching the snow fall past her, giving her the disorienting sensation of driving backwards through a tunnel. For two days, she had watched the snow pile high at the foot of the tree. She had been a voyeur of the natural world, watching groups of forest animals gather, root in the snowdrifts for food, and cross the ice. A squirrel. A group of three deer. A black bear that stopped, reared up on its hind legs and sniffed, puzzled, before dropping back down and moving on.

And for two days, Valerie had expected to die. The first day she had feared it. The second day, she welcomed it.

Valerie knew that, unlike the animals, she would never cross the ice. She would never make it that far. She would never leave the car, which was suspended in a tree fifteen feet above the ground, and sixty feet below the lip of the cliff where it had careened off a dead man’s curve two nights ago.

The heavy Ford 500 had dropped passenger side down. A thick, jagged tree limb shattered the window and pinned Valerie to her seat. Over the next 48 hours, the Ford had slowly rotated so that its hood now pointed directly down. The branch had cracked but not broken off, leaving a sharp splinter a few inches from Valerie’s neck. As the car continued its inexorable, glacial drop, the splinter would – over several hours – impale her. Her seat belt scraped her neck into an open sore. Even if she could move her arms to unlatch the belt, she would only fall forward onto the spike.

Turning her head sent a thunderbolt of pain down her neck and spine, but she did it anyway. She needed to see the village in the distance. It was the only thing that kept her sane. She could see cars coming and going and people walking down the street, as if this were a normal day, a day when people didn’t die, when pain did not exist. She looked enviously at the warm houses, with smoke rising from their chimneys. She had even seen a small group of cross-country skiers pass by on the opposite bank of the river, but a tangle of branches hid her car from view. Calling out was futile. They could not possibly hear her, and she couldn’t reach the car’s horn. In any case, she was sure it was smashed beyond repair.

After the skiers, there was no one.

She had not been the driver. Michael had been. He had tried in vain to pull her out, but eventually gave up, pried his own door open, and dropped safely to ground. He had promised to get help. He had promised Valerie she would be fine. But Michael always made promises he couldn’t keep.

Valerie’s tree was one of five or six that sprouted from a small beach of gravel and sand, bounded on one side by the river and the other side by the cliff. There were only two ways out, up the cliff or across the river. Climbing the cliff would have been impossible, even in the best of times. The ice and snow made it a suicide mission. So, Michael had chosen the river. Valerie watched as he made his way gingerly across the ice. Ten yards. Twenty yards. Thirty yards. Then she heard the crack and watched as he disappeared silently into the water.

She thought it odd that her first reaction wasn’t horror, just an exhausted sense of inevitability. She wondered why the deer had been able to cross the ice, but not Michael. Maybe he had stepped on a fragile imperfection or a place where a swirling eddy had prevented the ice from thickening. She didn’t know. She never saw him again, and she didn’t really care anymore.

A frigid wind blew through the window. The snow turned the blood from her forehead to slush, clotting her hair into long, heavy knots that fell forward and shrouded her face. The darkness calmed her. She was hungry, delirious.

It had been Michael’s idea to come out here, back to the place where they began, where they had, many years ago, built a cabin during a time of sunshine, bluebells, and honeybees.

And warmth.

They had spent two months here, working all day, and sleeping under the stars at night. She had loved him then.

A tangle of fibers in the tree branch snapped, and the Ford slid down another inch. Valerie craned her neck to try to gnaw the sharp point of the splinter, to dull it, knowing it would not save her in the end. It might even make the end worse as a blunted point would rip through her skin or crush her skull rather than make a clean puncture. The searing pain in her neck forced her to stop.

Michael thought that coming up here would heal the emotional wounds they had inflicted on each other over the years. Valerie knew there was no point. She had known that for a long time. But she also needed to show Michael that she was willing to try everything possible to save their marriage. She always had, even in the most difficult times. Even when he had frittered away their savings. Even when they were told they could not have children (Michael’s fault, of course, not hers). Even through the infidelity. Even when he had smashed a window in one of many alcohol fueled-rages. Every time, he came back to her, begging forgiveness. And, every time, she obliged. She forgave him and tried again.

She closed her eyes, even though she knew that was a bad idea. She might never open them again. She thought of the night two days ago when they began to ascend the mountain. She had always hated the drive, the narrow dirt road, the steep rise, the blind curves, the lack of a safety railing. Michael always drove too fast, and she hounded him to slow down. Her pestering just made him angrier, and so he drove even faster. “Stop!” she had yelled. And he did, eventually.

There was another sharp crack, and the splinter moved to within an inch of Valerie’s throat. She took a deep breath. There was nothing she could do. She could wait for the agonizing and slow death, or she could try to force her head down and end it quickly. She knew she did not have the courage for that.

Michael had stopped the car. “I’m sorry,” he had said. “This isn’t going to work, Valerie.” She had sat, watching him intently. He had refused to look at her and then let out a torrent of words. He said that he loved her once, but not anymore, that he appreciated all she had done for him. He sounded like a grateful boss thanking her for years of dedicated service at the company, like he was going to give her an engraved pen. He said he knew she was good person, but that he couldn’t do this anymore. He said that he needed to leave her. The time had come. She asked whether there was someone else, but he did not respond. They had sat in silence for five minutes, maybe ten. “We need to turn back,” he said at last. “I can’t turn here. I need to go to the top and then turn around.”

A rumbling sound came from deep within the tree limb. It grew louder. Valerie squeezed her eyes tight. Her tears froze on her cheeks. She didn’t struggle. There was no point. Silent resignation. She would die as she had lived.

The car shuddered, and she could hear the limbs underneath her reach their breaking point. The limb through the window sagged and snapped. A slack tendril of fibers still connected it to the tree, but the tendril was enough to pull the limb back out the window as the Ford careened downward. The splinter twisted and slid past Valerie, slicing a painful gash in her neck. She screamed. The car crashed through the branches and landed nose first in the deep pile of snow, the body of the car resting against the tree.

Valerie was nearly dead now. A comforting, luxurious numbness began in her neck and spread like a stain through her body. The pain seeped away, but her mind continued to work, slowly, half conscious.

Michael, having vented his anger, had driven slowly the rest of the way up the mountain. He tried to be solicitous. He kept saying “I’m sorry,” as if it were some magic incantation that made things right. “We’ll get through this,” he said. He pulled into the dirt driveway of the cabin. “Do you remember when we built this?” he had said. An idiotic question meant to fill the awkward silence. “Of course,” she had said. “Do you want to get out? To see it together one last time?” he had asked. No, she did not. She never wanted to see it again.

Valerie opened her eyes. Her seatbelt dug into her neck and stomach. She unbuckled and fell violently into the dashboard. She reached out a hand and opened the door, then tumbled out onto the snow.

She lay in the powder, face up, and stared as the snow fell down upon her. She smiled. She was moving forward through the tunnel now.

Michael had driven carefully down the mountain, pumping the brakes as he went, as Valerie’s anger grew. How could he do this to them? How could he leave her? After all she had done. After she had loved him for so many years. “We’ll get through this, Valerie, we will.” He kept saying it, over and over again.

“No,” she screamed, “we will not! We will not get through this!”

“Yes, we will,” he said, trying to soothe her.

She took a deep breath and lapsed into silence. “No, Michael, we won’t” she finally said, mimicking his calm tone. She grabbed the wheel and turned it sharply off the road. Michael slammed the brakes, but the car slid over the edge and crashed into the trees below.

It’s over. That was her first thought. But it wasn’t. Michael was fine. Of course he was. She was the one who was hurt. She always was. She was the one who was going to die, not him.

Had he actually tried to free her? Did he actually mean to get help? Or was he just going to let her die? She didn’t know, but in the end, the universe had, for once, given her justice. His black form had disappeared into the river. She had seen it, and he was gone.

She staggered to her feet and looked out over the river. The hole where Michael had gone through the ice had frozen over.

She looked at the village in the distance and stared at the chimney smoke rising above the trees. She smiled and began to stumble forward. “I will get through this,” she said aloud. “Not us, Michael. Just me. And no one will know.”

She heard a rustle in the bushes and out of the corner of her eye saw a dark shape move through the brush. She turned too quickly, sending a wrenching pain through her neck. For a fleeting moment, she was certain it was Michael. He had somehow pulled himself to safety, and he was ready once again to ask for forgiveness. She started to scream, not from the physical pain, but because she could not forgive anymore.

But it wasn’t Michael.

The large, lumbering shape circled through the brush, then stopped ten yards in front of her. The bear rose on its hind feet and let out a roar that reverberated off the cliff and echoed across the river. She stared, motionless. She wasn’t afraid. Not after the last two days. If she felt anything, it was disappointment, nothing more. Death could come if it wanted. She wouldn’t stop it.

The bear dropped down again, contemplating a charge. Valerie did not move. “Come if you must,” she said. “Kill me if you must. But there is nothing more here for you.”

The bear sniffed, gave a low growl, then turned away and lumbered toward the river. She watched as it made its way over the snow-covered ice.

She stepped onto the ice, following in the bear’s footsteps across to the other side.