8: Black Ice

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"Here." Ida resolutely puts her car keys in my hand. The storm has calmed enough for us to venture outside. Embla and Mimer are climbing a snow pile, pretending it's the impressive peak of Kebnekaise, while my sister and I stand beside her snow-covered car. It kind of resembles a snowy peak at this point, only the rearview windows being visible underneath the white debris.

I stare at the keys in my mitten-clad hand. "I can't drive in this weather," I protest. "I mean, I can barely drive at all."

I do have my driver's license. Anton and I studied for our theory exams together during our last year of gymnasium, when we were about to turn eighteen, the legal age to drive. Truthfully, I was more interested in his company than in the subject at hand. But being quite studious, I aced the theoretic exam on the first try. Then I helped Anton, who on account of his dyslexia struggled with test taking, to prepare for his second and third attempts. He did the same for me when I failed my first driving test, as my anxious nature made swift decisions and unexpected situations difficult to tackle. Stuff like that came second nature to him, who flew through the test with flying colors, which made it possible for him to sit beside me as we practiced for my subsequent attempts.

The third time was the charm also for me. I remember Anton's smile afterward more than anything else. He waited patiently in the traffic department's lobby while I headed out on the roads with the instructor. As soon as Anton saw me get out of the car once the test was completed, he knew I'd passed and ran outside to wrap his arms around me.

I've barely sat by the wheel since. It was never about driving for me. It was always about Anton.

When Sofia later that year studied for her exams, I remember her nagging him to help her study. Perhaps it was just that the excitement about driving had dulled for him by then but I couldn't help but wonder now if he had already been torn between us. Perhaps I should have sensed then that our relationship went beyond friendship but I never knew anything else. Never having been romantically involved with anyone and always having had Anton in my life made it hard to know where the line went.

But I know we've stepped across whatever line was drawn in the snow now. We rolled around kissing atop that line at Medborgarplatsen.

"You'll be fine," Ida insists, patting my head encouragingly. The gesture makes cold snowflakes fall between my jacket and scarf. I shiver involuntarily. "And it's the only way to get to grandpa's house quickly."

She's right. I know it. Even if busses and trains were still running, which they aren't on account of the weather, it would take many hours of connections to get to his remote cottage in the woods.

And while I'm in the area, I could try to find Anton as well, since our hometown, where he still lives, is nearby. He did say he was home. Although he may not want me to come there.

"The snow may pick up again," I mumble, starting to shuffle some snow off the roof of the utilitarian Toyota RAV4 that is my sister's choice of vehicle. At least the car looks like it may be able to handle some rough driving conditions. Unfortunately, I'm not sure I am.

"The snow won't hurt you," Ida says decisively. "In fact"—she looks up toward the fluffy snow-filled clouds, from which scattered snowflakes still are falling slowly—"I think it may protect you."

I want to ask her what the heck she means. But the aura of mystery she exudes makes me feel like such questions can't be asked. I should just accept what she tells me.

"I guess... I will go then," I surmise with a sigh. There is no arguing with my sister anyway. Ida always got her way. When she needed her cute little brother as a prop in her games I never had a choice. I would wear whichever silly costume she asked me to and I would be happy just to be included. I guess that's just part of being the youngest sibling; constantly striving for someone to see you.

In a communal effort, we free the car from layer upon layer of snow. The kids help as well, although their contribution of drawing stick figures on the windows may be more of a hindrance than a contribution. Regardless, the car is eventually dug out from its igloo-like shell of frost and snow. The hood and roof are cleared and the windows are scraped.

Ida basically pushes me behind the wheel as I hesitate to get in. I worry I will break the vehicle somehow just by entering. Luckily, Ida has no such qualms.

"You just push here." She puts her finger on a round button, making it roar like a monster. "And then you use this to steer." She points at the steering wheel with a grin on her face.

"I do know that." I glare at my sister, who seems to find herself very amusing.

"Great, then you'll do fine!" Ida closes the driver's side door before I have time to protest.

After some issues getting out of the parking spot, since the car is parallel parked on the street and there is a snow wall of considerable size on the outside of it, I'm on the road. My sister and her kids excitedly wave goodbye from the snow-covered sidewalk.

I'm not sure I would be so happy about the prospect of someone wrecking my car if I were my sister.

The streets of Stockholm are surprisingly empty. I guess everyone else is smarter than me and is actually heeding the warnings about not driving in the storm. Although the weather has improved since this morning, the streets are still filled with snow.

And underneath is ice. That's the treacherous part. The dashboard in my sister's car keeps warning me about black ice—the slickest of surfaces—underneath the white powder. I won't be able to see the thin sheet of frozen water but I will know once I hit it, as the tires won't be able to get traction.

My hands, where blue frosty lines have reached the white knuckles, squeeze the tire as I focus on parrying every possible obstacle. Ice, snow, perhaps an unsuspecting yeti walking out on the road. Anything seems possible at this point, in this new frightening world where Anton kisses me and my hands control the weather.

I drive without interfering music, only listening to the computerized voice of the GPS that warns of every upcoming turn. As I get out of the city, the experience turns into a calming lull. I only have to focus on the road ahead right now, while driving through a transformed landscape painted in white. The highway appears to be plowed but few drivers are brave enough to venture upon it.

I never considered myself brave either. I still don't think I am. What I am is desperate. Desperate for answers, from both my grandfather and Anton.

My hand lifts from the wheel for a moment, shaking stiff fingers to life. Feeling daring, or at least mildly confident in my driving skills, I push the radio button.

The last tunes of a familiar song echo through the empty vehicle.

Forever young, I want to be forever young

Do you really want to live forever?

Forever, and ever...

Maybe it's a sign. Maybe it means nothing. Maybe the whole world is conspiring against me somehow.

Still, the memories elicited by the song give me hope. It makes me relive that moment on the dance floor.

It was real. It was pure. It was magical.

I know I won't live forever. No one does. But today, I'm alive and I need to seize it. I need to not just talk to Anton; I need to confess to him what I feel and what I've felt for a long time. I can't let him slip away from me without a fight.

Author's Note: 10 days to get to 12k! Can I do it? That remains to be seen... but count on a lot of chapters being published in the coming week :) (I do aim to end this story right above 20k, at a predetermined point that finishes one major plot point, and then extend past that after ONC).

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