Page 100 of A Winter in Wonderland
Chapter 43
‘Arghhhh!’I yelled into the night sky.
It was fine. It would be fine. Wasn’t this one of those situations where you could fix your phone by chucking it in a bowl of rice, or surrounding it with packets of silica gel or something?Well, no problem then, Myla, let’s just empty all this uncooked rice out of my pockets …
Jumping back on the snowmobile I started the motor, ready to race back to the staff chalet so I could fix my phone and call back to make sure everything was OK. It had to be OK.
All right, pause, breathe. I was clearly doing something wrong because the snowmobile wasn’t starting. But no matter how many pauses or breaths I took, it still wouldn’t start.
I reached for my phone to call Zoë or Daan for help again, and then smacked my forehead with my wet glove, remembering it was dead.
Fine. This was fine. Using the maintenance kit, I fiddledabout with the fuel lines, since that worked last time. But still nothing. I didn’t know how to make this right. I wasn’t strong enough. I was cold.
Pulling the blanket off the back of the snowmobile, I snuggled myself under it and sat on the seat.
Sitting there, with no phone and no escape, I had nothing to do but think, and that’s when the floodgates opened.
Esteri was right to call me out. As was Shay. I was defining myself by these things that had happened in the past, to the point I was now looking for the bad in every situation over the winter. And this happened year on year.
There was so much to enjoy here in Lapland, and Ihadenjoyed myself. From the friends I’d made to the boy I’d kissed, from the adventures and saunas and experiences, from the views and the skies my eyes had taken in. How could I lie to myself and cling on to anything ‘bad’ as if it was the only thing that mattered?
I didn’t want to be like that any more.
I couldn’t forget the past, and maybe I didn’t want to – it was still part of me after all. I didn’t need to knock back shots of vodka or escape on a snowmobile or even lock myself in my home or take a plane to a tropical island. But perhaps I could reframe the memories, just to make them easier on myself. Even though thinking of them was hard. Though as I sat there in minus temperatures, keeping myself safe wrapped in these arms that I had to accept were mine, not Josh’s, I felt like maybe I could do hard things.
It certainly wasn’t easy, and it didn’t come naturally. It’s possible it wouldn’t, unless maybe I sought some help froma doctor. But I concentrated, my whole mind and body focused on finding the light patches in my dark thoughts.
If I hadn’t spent my eighth Christmas in hospital, I wouldn’t have developed an understanding and appreciation for what other kids were going through at this time of year.
If my mum hadn’t left during the holidays when I was thirteen, she wouldn’t have gone on to have the happy life she was missing.
If, at sixteen, Rick had kissed me at the school Christmas dance, instead of Ashley, we would have broken each other’s hearts at some point, because I knew I didn’t want to be with him now.
If, at twenty, my sister hadn’t gone to rehab instead of spending Christmas with us, she wouldn’t have got her life back on track as soon as she did.
If I hadn’t made a huge mistake at twenty-five and ruined the engagement party, I might have carried on being a sucky friend, and bringing other people down, rather than trying to be better.
If, at twenty-seven, I’d not been let go from my dream job, I would never have been here.
And if I’d never been here, I’d never have lived through one of the most amazing winters of my life.
I knew none of these reasonings made up for the things I’d done wrong, or negated the things I’d been through, but it was time to at least try and let go, at least try and change how I react when things go wrong. I owed it to myself to look back on these experiences with fondness and care rather than push them away. Because sixteen-year-old me coulduse a confidante. Because twenty-five-year-old me still feels crappy about what she did. And because eight-year-old me had loved Christmas, and she’d be pretty mad if she knew I’d let a handful of problems change who I was. I wanted to change again, so it was time to accept.
I don’t know how long it had been that I’d been sitting there, lost in my mind, but it struck me like a flame on a match that Iwasstrong enough, after all. Because I could light a fire. I was good at fires. I could keep myself warm, and once I’d warmed up, I’d move onto the next step, and perhaps, step by step, I’d make it back.
So that’s what I did. Using the supplies in the emergency kit under the seat of the snowmobile, I lit a small campfire, and warmed my hands in front of the flames until it felt like they had blood pumping through them again.
I watched the fire having a good flicker, twinkling the glittering snow on the ground around it. I briefly closed my eyes again, focusing on the smoky scent that enveloped me, the tingle in my fingertips, the crackle of the wood burning and the cold of the night air. Then I opened them and smiled.
Who would have thought that in Lapland, the Christmas capital of the world, I could stop seeing winters-past every time I closed my eyes and start seeing the present again?
Then, using the tiny torch, and a lot of guesswork, I started prodding at bits of the snowmobile.
The fire crackled and hissed as I stepped around it, flicking it with snow, and it took me a minute to realise the extra light on the snowmobile wasn’t coming from the flames.
And suddenly the silence and dark were cut through withthat familiar, wonderful sound of snowmobiles vrooming through snow.
I turned, shielding my eyes from the brightness, protecting my fire from the incoming blades of the snowmobile.
