Deliverance at Thirty Below

Deliverance at Thirty Below

* * *

Snow turned to sleet as Liam ran down the side of the highway. It was only three in the afternoon, but the Montreal day had turned to virtual night in the midst of the blizzard. Traffic in the West Island was usually murder on a Friday but the storm had kept the drivers away. The entire city had been suffering through a string of blizzards unlike anything anyone had seen in decades.

"On ca calisee du stik global warming, fuck!" the boy of 19 screamed as yet another blast of stinging ice pellets showered on to his face. The wind turned the snow into formless waves on the road. He stopped walking and stooped over, ass into the wind and head bent low. It was no use trying to move forward with this gust. He had to wait until things were better.

Liam had waited for months for this day. Today was to be his driving test. Most of his friends had either already gotten their license, or forsaken the idea of cars and driving altogether, usually in the name of environmentalism. But as could was obvious on this awful day, Liam had no care for such righteous causes.

He had struggled slavishly all summer, working as an outdoor painter to save up the nine hundred dollars he now kept hidden in an old tin can on the top his dresser. That nine hundred dollars was going to be his ticket to freedom, to women, to purchasing a car. With a car, his life would change, he told himself repeatedly. The idea crept through his head when he fell ten feet off a ladder on to an asphalt driveway back in July, seriously injuring his back. It fueled him as he laboured, sweaty and shirtless, in +30 degree weather on the sides of houses in obscure Quebec villages. And it motivated him to try walking three kilometres in the middle of this storm. A car would save him from cranky homeowners, vindictive bosses, racist bus and metro operators.

Most importantly, thought Liam, it would save him from a life of hapless virginity.

On the side of the highway, he recalled a number of things as his mind battled to detach itself from its agonized physical shell. His shoes were regular old sneakers, not boots, he thought as he felt the chunks of melting snow soak into his socks. He remembered that he had said a taxi wouldn't be necessary for his journey, seeing as how the distance to the SAAQ on his city map didn't seem very long at all. An image of his mother's disapproving face, the one she used the most, drifted through his field of vision for a moment before being replaced with the impenetrable fog of white snow. He was reminded yet again of how conservative adults, and especially parents, were often right in their advice.

It was time to call a taxi, he thought.

He didn't want to get frostbite out here. Nor did he want to end up buried and dead under a pile of snow only to be discovered in late April once the last snowbanks melted. He could afford the 15$ or so a taxi would cost for the remaining distance. Thought resolved itself into action. He unearthed his cellphone from the debris in his pocket, and once again assuming the ass-out position, made the call.

"Taxi bonjour."
"Ouai? Une taxi SVP?"
"D'ou monsieur?"

He faltered. This was a hitch in his plans. Taking in his surroundings, Liam noticed he was now on an overpass. Some other highway ran underneath it.

"Sais pas, dans un highway."
"Au quelle autoroute monsieur?"
"Euh...je pense je suis sur la 20."
"OK, mais ou sur la 20?"
"Fuck, I don't know!"
"Please call us back sir. We don't send taxis out just to go drive around. Look at the weather, sti!"

He stuffed the phone back into his coat pocket and swore again. Now he was screwed. He hadn't seen a single taxi pass for the half hour he'd been walking since the bus dropped him off in the middle of a parking lot. He didn't know anyone who lived nearby. Another strong gust of wind. He tried in vain to pull his coat collar over his head. His toque and scarf were coated in snow and ice, and his unprotected hands were red from the cold. They didn't hurt, he realized, but that was most likely not because they weren't cold too, just that he couldn't feel them anymore.

He was facing a dilemma. The SAAQ offices closed by 4:30PM, and his test had been scheduled for 3:45. It had taken at least a dozen calls over the course of two months to secure his time slot. If he gave up now, it could be another month before he had his shot to fail the driver's test. If he tried to go on by foot, he might not make it.

There was a third choice. He hadn't expected it, but ascertaining his position on the overpass, he felt it come to him with the slow warmth of sunlight. He could just let whatever was supposed to happen, happen. He didn't have to fight anymore. The notion of surrender filled his body for a moment. Everyone has to die at some point. He'd probably make the news too. Dying offered the promise of warmth when there was none...

He began hyper-ventilating, realizing his proximity to the edge. If he simply stood still for another half an hour so, he would certainly be dead, or unconscious. The idea sent shudders through out his thin frame. How could someone freeze to death in this modern age, in this modern city? He cursed the illusion of civilization that had been fed to his generation. "We're all still goddam hunter-gatherers and Indians," he thought.

The gust stopped and now only the usual driving wind was tormenting him. Total isolation. No-one would hear his calls for help. His feet lost their feeling, his thighs scraped the inside of his jeans like sandpaper. Death approached. What had he gotten himself into?

And then, God saved him.

A taxi approached in the distance, its "vacant" light bright and shining like an angel. Liam stared at it through squinting, snow-crusted eyes. He wanted to be sure it was real before he'd start waving like a maniac and trying to leap out in front of it. His limbs didn't allow him to wait for very long though, and soon he was jumping up and down, a stranded survivor flagging down his would-be Messiah. The cab approached ever closer, only ten metres away now. Would it stop?

It did. He ran out, smashing through the snow bank on the side of the highway, depositing another mound of ice into his Adidas' kicks before opening its door and hopping in the back. The Middle-Eastern gentleman turned his neck and smiled. Liam smiled back. Whatever lesson he had hoped God was trying to impart on to him, he believed he had rightfully earned His favour through suffering. What should he learn from this incident? Patience? Hopefulness? Solidarity with his Nordic ancestors? Only the Most High knew. He was glad to take any and all of those lessons with him.

"SAAQ office s'il vous plait."
"Yes sir."

"Even the cabbies out here in the West Island spoke English," he thought to himself, still beaming. The Buick blasted wonderful, magnificent heat out of its vents as his grateful hands lapped it up. He was safe now. Death had been averted, at least for today.

=//Turnquest