What A Seventeen-Year-Old Will Do For Love

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.

Mark paced his bedroom, trying to decide what he ought to do.

Well, he ought to stay home. The weather outside told him that.

But—he’d told Gracie he’d be at her grandparent’s at six-thirty. The Vincent's place was forty-five minutes away . . . no big deal if he had a way of getting there. Mom’s car was in the shop, and his father had, naturally, driven the truck to work. His shift started at three so he wouldn’t be getting back until after midnight. Maybe well after if this storm kept up.

There was his Dad's Vespa.

By all accounts, it was too small and not legal to drive on a highway. Which would be the fastest way of getting to Gracie. He could try the back roads, but it would take longer to get to her.

He stopped his pacing to consider the matter more seriously. Pretty likely, there wouldn’t be much traffic on the highway. People would be inclined to stay home in weather like this. If he left now . . .

Mark grabbed up his coat, hat, and gloves, and strode out, taking the stairs two at a time, throwing his coat on as he went. Mom, reading a story to his younger brother and sister on the couch, stopped and asked, “Where are you off to in this weather?”

“I’m going to Gracie’s. You know I said I’d be there for supper. I’m gonna be there for supper!”

“Mark . . . it’s freaking cold and it’s a blizzard out there. I’m sure they’re not expecting you to come in this storm!”

“I’m going! I promised, and I’m going!”

There was a look of ‘Are you nuts!’ in her eyes. She cocked her head slightly. “And how are you getting there?”

“Taking the Vespa!” He put a hand to the doorknob.

“What? No—I wish I could take you, but my car’s still not ready. And I’m not sure I’d want to go out in this myself! Look, the Vespa’s not—”

“Mom! I’ll be fine! I’ll be home before Dad!”

“Mark—”

“I’m not letting Gracie down, Mom! I’ll be fine!” He crossed the room to come give her a quick kiss on her cheek. Then, tousling the curly heads of his siblings, he jammed on his hat, and went out into the blustery cold and the driving snow.

“Why’s he going out, Mom?” wondered little Cydney.

“’Cause he’s crazy!” uttered eight-year-old Brady. “Isn’t he, Mom?”

“Yeah, you say that now, Brady,” said Mom, “but I’m betting when you’re seventeen and in love, you’ll be doing some crazy things yourself, one day!” But she cast a worried look at the door.

The roads in town were bad enough, but at least a plow went through the main ones often enough to keep them passable. But once he was on the highway, things weren’t so great. For one thing, the tires of the little scooter weren’t snow worthy by a long shot. Plus it’s top speed was just about forty miles an hour. Not a speed he’d be hitting tonight. For another, no plow seemed to have come through in quite some time.

The wind picked up and wanted to blow him over, but somehow, he kept the little scooter upright. It was as if it felt his determination to be in time for supper with Gracie. Gracie with her bright auburn curls, and her big smiling gray eyes that both teased him and adored him. Gracie who was the perfect size to cuddle. Small, but not too small; not too thin either. Not chunky at all, but just right.

Thoughts of Gracie kept him warm. On the inside.

On the outside, he was freezing his butt off. Twice, the little scooter hit a patch of ice and slid this way and that. Once he did a 360. But he managed to stay calm, easing up on the gas. Fortunately, the patches weren’t that large. Was scary, but kinda fun. Definitely, not scary enough to turn him from his purpose.

I’m coming Gracie!

If his mother had termed it a blizzard a while ago, it suddenly began to come down harder than ever. Big flakes flying into his face, stinging his eyes.

Damn . . . why didn’t I remember my helmet?

Because all you were thinking of was Gracie! That thought came in Mom’s voice. You best be careful!

A four by four truck whizzed on by him like it was a summer day in August. Another car came right on the tail of the truck. A little slower, but still too fast for the conditions of the road right then. While the truck went on its merry way, the car suddenly began to slide all over the place. The driver seemed to be trying to keep it together, but failed. The car careened off to the left, then the right, then again to the left, leaving the road altogether—literally—and ending up on top of a rather tall snowdrift.

Mark, perforce, had halted his journey to watch how this scenario would play out. Once it had, he continued on his way. Should he stop to see what he could do for the occupants? Not that there was much he could do. He didn’t even have his cell phone with him. But a prick of light from that car assured him that someone had one handy.

He went on.

I’m coning Gracie! Don’t eat without me!

Another car caught up to him as he buzzed along. As it slowed to keep pace with him, the passenger side window slid down, and a woman’s voice reached him through the wind and the snow. “Young man, what are you doing out in this storm on that little motorcycle? Does your mother know you’re out in this . . . on that?”

Mark grinned. Or he tried to. His face was about frozen stiff. “Yes, ma’am. She does. Wasn’t happy about it though!”

“I shouldn’t think so! You got much further to go?”

Actually, he wasn’t sure how much further he had to go. The blinding snow, his dreaming of Gracie, then watching out for that sliding car . . . he’d forgotten to watch for the signs. But he said, “Oh, not much further now. Next exit.”

That seemed to satisfy her. She wished him well and slid the window up again. The car rolled on its way. By its headlights, he saw the green road sign ahead. Barely. Just enough to know it was coming up. Not enough to know if this was his exit or if he still had miles to go.

Or find out he’d missed his exit.

While his L.L. Bean jacket and gloves kept him fairly warm, his legs in his jeans, were another story. They were as stiff as his face. As were his feet. Yeah, off he’d gone in his sneakers . . . Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Please, please, please . . . be my exit!

Kingsdale . . . Exit half mile . . .

Yay! I’m almost there, Gracie!

That half mile trek seemed endless.

Coming off onto the exit ramp, out of nowhere, a car ran up beside him, almost forcing him off the road. He beeped his little horn, which didn’t seem to make a difference. The offending vehicle made a California stop and turned left. Mark turned right, happy not to have to see the tail lights of that vehicle for longer than he had to!

He was almost to Winter Street when a police car rolled up beside him. “You shouldn’t be out in this on that scooter, son. You’re asking for trouble.”

“I’m almost home, officer,” lied Mark, glad the officer hadn't seen him coming off the highway's exit ramp.

“Okay. See that you stay there!”

Mark watched the cop car disappear into the storm. Winter Street. Appropriate name for it today!

Happily, the Vincent’s place was second house on the left. Mark parked the Vespa and started up the walkway. His feet were frozen and his legs felt like boards. But he’d made it! His heart just overflowed with a thrilling pride.

“Gracie, I’m here!” He burst out as he came through the side door into the kitchen. And stopped. There sat the family at the supper table. Voices changed from companionable chatter to shocked surprise.

Gracie leaped out of her chair to come greet him, almost knocking him over. She took his hand and led him over to the seat beside her. "I knew you'd come! They didn't believe me!"

“S’matter with you, boy, coming out in this godawful storm?” demanded Grampa Vincent, staring at him under bushy white eyebrows. “Your ma bring you? Where is she?”

“I came on my own. Car’s in the shop.”

“Came on your own? You walk?”

“No, sir. I came on the Vespa.”

The old man grunted. “Fool thing to do. Lucky you made it. Those back roads must be hell to travel in a proper vehicle let alone a thing like that!”

“Oh, I came the highway,” confided Mark casually, accepting a plate of food from Gramma. “I made good time.”

“Did you? What time did you leave?”

“Not sure. ‘Round four.”

Silence for a moment, then Grampa laughed, and others repeated what Mark had said. “Four? Really, four?”

“Yeah, what’s so funny about that?”

“It’s after seven,” Gracie informed him. “You been three hours getting here!”

Oh. Well. That explained everyone being at the supper table before him . . .

Gramma motioned him to the phone on the wall. “Call your mother! Now!”

"Mom's happy I made it," he reported coming back to the table to finish his supper.

As the meal went on, his body thawed out and eventually was as warm as his heart. Conversation was light and happy. Afterwards, they all trooped into the living room for a half hour show. He got to sit beside Gracie, and even cuddle a little. Very little.

Grampa was all over that!

After the show, Grampa asked if Mark was all warmed up now. When Mark said he was, Grampa declared it time for him to hit the road.

Mark had been hoping to spend the night on the couch. But Grampa wasn’t having any of that.

“You got here all right on that thing. It’ll get you home again. Good night now. Be careful!”

Reluctantly, he shrugged into his jacket, hat and gloves. Stole a kiss and a hug from Gracie when Grampa wasn’t looking, and went out into the storm.

It was so terribly cold. It was still snowing. And it seemed darker outside than earlier. That was probably just his imagination, but still . . .

Should he go the back roads home, or should he brave the highway again.

Somehow, the back roads seemed unfriendlier. Lonelier. He set the Vespa off toward the highway entrance, hoping not to meet up with any police officers on the way.

Three hours getting here!

Maybe the wind would be behind him now, and he could make better time getting home. Which seemed to be the case . . . until he was actually back on the highway. One good thing. A plow had gone through at some point, so for now, he felt he could push for a little more speed. Especially, if he rode down the middle of the road. Which is where the plow had done its best effort at clearing the snow.

The snowflakes coming at him made him feel like he felt watching Star Trek—watching the stars speeding by the ship’s windows. But this was different. Eerier . . .

He tried to banish the feeling by forcing his thoughts back to Gracie. It’d been a warm, cozy couple of hours. Her smile melted his heart. Her touch . . .

An SUV, like the truck earlier, seemed to come out of nowhere, flying down the road like it was racing in the Indy 500. It blasted its horn at him, making him swerve right. The SUV passed him, still blowing its’ annoying horn as it went. Snow fell so thick, its tail lights were lost to sight in no time. Oddly, Mark felt abandoned. It’d be kinda nice to be following someone right about now.

What if he didn’t make it home? What if this storm made like a Bermuda Triangle kinda thing, and he got swallowed up in it?

Maybe aliens were waiting for him around the next bend. Yeah, like in those shows where there’d be a bunch of them in the middle of the road, all looking like his family members . . . And he’d ride right into the middle of them all of a sudden, and they’d grab him off the Vespa and whisk him away from this world.

Could happen. You never know.

Or, and more probably, some idiot driver in some four wheel drive vehicle, would zip right on down the middle of the road like the SUV had. Smash into him like a bug on a windshield. Flatten him like the proverbial pancake. The syrup would be his blood. If he could bleed on a night like this, that is. Maybe the cold would save his life.

Yeah, he’d live to spite fate. Because of his great will to live and his greater love for Gracie.

His face was frozen again, as was the rest of his body. The wind penetrated his usually protective jacket and his gloves. His ears were warm, the hat still did its job. The only good thing for this.

Oh, crap . . . What did that sign say?

Was there a sign? He thought there’d been a sign. Glancing over his shoulder to check, he didn’t see the clump of snow in his path. Didn’t have time to react or even know he had to. He went one way, and the Vespa the other. Lay there in the snowbank for a few minutes, assessing his condition. Except that they were cold, everything seemed to work. He hadn’t hit his head on anything that could break it, so that was good. Slowly, he picked himself up and tramped over to the Vespa. It, too, had landed in a snowbank on the other side of the road. Didn’t seem the worse for wear . . . although it was hard to be sure in the dark.

He hopped on and attempted to start it. To his great relief, it purred to life first try.

Okay. Keep an eye out for the next sign . . .

The next sign came out of the darkness and snow like those family looking aliens. Please . . . please . . . please . . .!

Fairhaven! Yes!

Just as he entered the exit ramp, the Vespa sputtered and quit. Quit dead right there. Well, he’d thought he’d had gas enough to make it there and back. Guess not. He sat there for a bit, trying to get up the motivation to push the thing.

He was still three miles from home.

Well, sitting here isn’t going to get us home . . .

He got off the scooter and started pushing. Sure wasn’t easy. Wasn’t fun to push on a nice summer’s day. Pushing it through all this snow was a complete nightmare!

For what seemed like hours, he pushed that dead machine. Part of him wanted to just leave it somewhere. Come after it tomorrow. But he kept on pushing . . .

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. The snow was just too deep, and he was just too tired. Now there were no cars anywhere. He was alone in the storm. Well, he’d been alone in the storm all along. But somehow, this felt different. And in his own hometown besides.

I’m coming Mom! I am. I just gotta rest a bit.

He let the Vespa drop into the snow and he dropped beside it. Just for a minute . . .

It was so terribly cold. When would the snow stop? Was it midnight yet?

Oh, man . . . I gotta just rest my eyes for a minute . . .

* * *

“What the—Mark?” The man stopped the truck and barreled out of it. Ran over to where his son lay in the snowbank. “Mark! Mark!”

“I’m . . . I’m . . . com . . . ing . . .” He started to drift off again.

His dad picked him up, commanding him to stay awake. Stowing him in the truck, he grabbed up the Vespa, fairly tossing it into the backend. Jumping into the cab, he set off down the street.

They were just 100 yards from GerriAnne.

Mom met them at the door. “Oh, my God, Nick! Is he all right? Gracie’s grandmother called to say he was on his way home. She apologized for not letting him stay . . . but we know how Gramps is. Put him on the couch and get his wet things off. I’ll go warm some blankets and get his pajamas . . . Make him some hot cocoa too.”

“That’s a good idea, GerriAnne. I’ll see if I can keep him awake.”

Dad succeeded in keeping Mark awake, and in short order, they’d made him more comfortable and very much warmer. Color began to come back into his face, hands and feet. He roused himself to sit up on the couch in order to drink the hot cocoa his mother’d made for him.

“Don’t you ever do this again, Mark! I was worried sick!”

Mark grinned at her. “Yeah, and were you worried the day Dad rode the Vespa in a blizzard to see you back in the day?”

“You told him about that?”

Dad shrugged, his grin matching Mark’s. “Hey, it’s what seventeen-year-olds do for love!”