Fallen Snow

He’d been thinking about giving up on sleep for a while. The last few nights had involved a cycle of a few hours of tossing and turning, laying in every comfortable position, being as still as could be, and then finally facing the fact that he wasn't going to win the fight. Now it was really getting old and tiresome. He’d had enough.

So tonight, instead of just lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, he decided to go sit in the empty lounge downstairs. He grabbed his phone and blanket, and left his hotel room, making sure to be as quiet as possible. And he managed to—until he reached the elevator. He jumped when it dinged, startled by the noise. After quickly looking around, he found that he was alone and the elevator was empty. He stepped in, pressed the button for the first floor, and then the one for the doors to close, trying to speed them up.

Once he was where he wanted to be, he claimed one of the big, soft armchairs. It was tucked away in the corner, next to a window, and conveniently away from everything else. Perfect. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and sat down, curling his legs up.

After he was completely situated, he tried playing on his phone for a little bit. But there was nothing new or interesting online, and the games he had he couldn't keep his attention for long. He tucked it away, back into his sweat jacket pocket. Then he lay back and turned his attention to the window. It had started snowing out, so he watched the snowflakes as they fell. Except for the clock ticking, it was quiet; peaceful even.

Unless someone were to look inside his mind at that moment. It would be clear then that for him, it was anything but. He was thinking, specifically about how he'd been sitting down here once before, a few years ago, and how he'd probably been thinking of the fresh snow for the competition the next day. He had been excited, ready to get out on the slopes.

But that was then. This was now, and he didn't care about the upcoming competition. He didn't even care about going out on the slopes just for fun. Indeed, within the past few years, he had gone from feeling like he was on top of the world, to feeling like he was one of the snowflakes he was watching. He felt as if he had taken one big, beautiful fall. Everything he'd had, everything he had done, felt like nothing to him now. His whole point of view had change, and he felt like a completely different person.

He let out a deep sigh as he thought about this. The accident had really changed everything. His life had been turned completely upside down, and no matter what he tired, he couldn't figure out how to fix it.

If only it had never happened, he thought. If only I hadn't been so stupid to look away.

But he had looked away, and constantly he reminded himself of that. He was never going to let himself live it down. To him, it was his fault, no matter who said otherwise. And if they weren't going to hold him accountable, he was going to.

His crime, if you asked him, was careless driving. He may have only looked away for not even a second, but it was long enough that he didn't see the other car in time. They hit head on, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the hospital.

He’d been severely injured in the crash. His legs had gotten most of the impact, and there was enough damage to them that they almost didn’t think he’d even walk right again, and not without something to help him. But he worked hard and proved them wrong, and now, almost three years later, here he was.

It was hailed as a momentous event. He was surrounded by friends and family, as well as some fellow professional snowboarders. People were everywhere, trying to catch it on film, as if they would forget it the next day. All the reporters were saying how his determination to overcome this was so inspiring and motivating. They said how if people put their minds to it, they could do it, too. How the love of something can cause a miracle.

They thought they knew the whole story behind it all, the story of why he did it, what drove him. But no one really did; no one except for him. He didn’t do to be an inspiration. He didn’t do it just so he could snowboard again. He didn’t do it because he even wanted to. No, he did it because he felt he had to. It was the only thing that could take his mind off of what happened to her.

Her, as in the other passenger of the car that night. He had been trying to impress her. He knew he was probably trying too hard, and that he should have been satisfied that he'd finally been able to get someone he'd admired for so long to agree to a date. But he really liked her, and wanted to make sure there’d be more dates. He had taken his eye off the road to try and to see her reaction to the joke he'd made, when the headlights of the car came into view.

In the hospital, when his family came in to see him, one of the first things he asked them was “Is she okay?”

They paused before answering, glancing at each other, not knowing what to say.

“No,” someone finally said solemnly. “She…she didn’t…” They didn’t need to finish the sentence. He understood.

He went nearly silent after that. He was almost mute, only saying "yes," "no," or "sure;" and sometimes not even that. He also became so listless, people sometimes would check to make sure he was still breathing. Again, his mind, though, was active as could be. What he would think about was her, what happened, and blame himself. And for a while, it depressed him so much he had no desire to do anything. But soon he started to grow stir-crazy, and was finally was able to think of something else: How much he wanted to get out of that bed!

He soon realized he had to do something one night. Enough was enough. If only he had some big, thought-consuming task that he could do, that would let him move around as well. A lightbulb went off in his head and he put two and two together. The next morning he asked what he’d have to do to try walking again, and as soon as the doctor gave him the green light, his physical therapy began.

But while all that hard work paid off a great deal physically for the long term, it only took away the mental strain for the short term. And as far as that went, he couldn't see being able to do anything about it. He missed her so much and felt so guilty about what he'd done, he couldn't think to let it go.

Why should I? he thought now. I killed her. I deserve this.

He rested his head on the window and let another sigh out. The glass fogged up in a circle from his breath. He reached out and ran his finger over the area, tracing random shapes for a few seconds. He soon lost interest and drew his arm back to his side. He pulled himself farther back into the chair and pulled the blanket around him more. He closed his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer…

They sprung back open. They hurt and were heavy, but they couldn’t stay closed. He couldn’t sleep, his mind wouldn’t let him. So he decided to have a second go at the Internet. But as he was about to hit the app for the browser, a little notification came up. He had a new e-mail.

But he didn’t read it, though. His focus was stuck on another e-mail. It was from her family, her brother to be exact. And it had to contain a message of hate, he just knew it. But he couldn’t take his eyes off it, and his finger accidentally slipped, opening it. He tried to look away fast enough, so he wouldn’t see the hurtful words, and feel worse than he already did. But it wasn’t fast enough, and he saw a few words. “…I just want you to know I forgive you.”

Wait, what?

He read the line over and over again. “I forgive you.” Then he read the rest. As he did, his eyes got wet, his sight started to blur, and hands began to tremble. He couldn’t believe it. This was too good to be true. It couldn’t be real. But the truth soon set in: It was.

Her brother had sent him an e-mail, saying how he had decided to forgive him, for whatever part was his fault, if any could be attributed to him. Her parents forgave him, too. Of course they’d always hurt, and probably would feel awkward around him. But her family was forgiving him, and accepting it wasn’t his fault.

Now if he could just do the same.

This was a starting point, though, and a little piece of mind. It was enough that when he got up to get something for his nose, he headed back up to bed instead of the chair. And it was plenty so he was able to go to sleep that night.