The Mountain Town

by Josh Olsen

  Rich parents looking to beat the crowd and frantic to pawn their spoiled kids off on some poor ski instructor, rich businessmen coming in with their mistresses, no doubt assuring their wives back home that they were on a very important and urgent trip. The rich eccentric artist types looking for an escape or “inspiration” on this vacation, Searching for any cure-all for their writers block that had plagued them for so many years after their best works. These things may seem judgmental or not true, but that was how the people of the town were, everyone there seemed to think they could get a read on someone within the first few moments of meeting them, whether by some sort of instinct they thought they might have or because it brought them some form of obscure entertainment in this quiet dull town. Conjuring up stories and scenarios in their mind about every guest and newcomer that came to the town or the lodge. The isolation of the winter months could take its toll on the human mind and for many of the residents it had. They didn’t take to outsiders well and most took their preconceptions or impressions of guests as fact. Avoiding them or despising them in their mind while serving them with the fake smile plastered on their face.

  The small shop owners and people of the town served the rich folks because they wanted to, they wanted to keep their small business afloat, some started by themselves or inherited from their parents, some only continuing the business because “Dad would have liked it” staying in this isolated town out of fear and out of loyalty. But the employees of the Paradise Lodge served the guests and waited on them hand and foot because they had to. Because Albert Sanders signed their checks, their meager salaries just enough to keep them afloat in this cold town.

  Albert Sanders, the owner of the Paradise Ski Lodge and one of the richest businessmen in the state. Albert Sanders who visited the town every week, his greedy eyes searching for any opportunity to save a nickel or make a quick buck on the backs of the townspeople.

  Aside from the winters, the animals, and the other dangers of the town, the townspeople still feared something they feared more than anything; Al Sanders, always greeting him with nervous smiles and anxious “Hello’s” because nothing could put you below the poverty line, and into his pocket faster than getting on Al Sanders bad side. The people in the town knew full well that Al could blacklist their business from all the rich guests at the lodge while they stayed, or he would have another shop erected in the same year selling your same goods for half the price of yours. Because why would he care? He wasn’t a resident, he lived 10 miles down the road in his private estate. If your shop withered and died, he’d have another one in, in the same year this time on his payroll. Maybe he’d bring you back to run it, maybe he wouldn’t. This was what every business owner and resident of the town feared most, it wasn’t the wolves that stalked the dark woods at night surrounding their homes, it wasn’t the bite of the unforgiving winter on its worst storms. It was the fear that all they had worked for would fail and they, like so many others, would be living out of Al Sanders pocket for the rest of their days.

  This isn’t to say that Mr. Sanders was an evil man, he was after all a businessman, and he did enjoy the company of the small townspeople, the small coziness of the town when he would visit, much over the quiet coldness of his enormous mansion, his wife divorced living off somewhere with her settlement. His children, all moved away waiting for him to keel over to get their cut of his fortune.

  All of his grandchildren that he had never met because “coming out this year wasn’t in the cards” or however his spoiled rotten children put it. His short visits to the town bar or shops or diners were all that he cared for now in his life, but even then when he would visit he could feel a disconnect between him and the townspeople. He knew in his head that some of them believed he “had it out for them” which he couldn’t blame them for.

  Maybe he had been a little too hot headed with business transactions and plans in the past. Maybe he had been too cold. Maybe his employees needed more. But that’s all they were, “Maybe’s” he was an old man now and he felt too tired to tackle any of his regrets or second thoughts now. He simply waited now, waited for the cold to take him or his age. His frequent visits to the town the only comfort he had now. Finding comfort in the company of the people who feared him. “Too far gone now” he thought, “too far gone now to change people’s perception.”

  Chapter 3

  Nate Clawson glanced into the rear view mirror. His brow furrowed, annoyed by his spoiled kids bickering in the back seat. Of course he loved them all the same, but he couldn’t connect with them in ways that he wanted to, ways he wished he could. There was a disconnect and he could feel it whenever he’d spend time with them. They hadn’t grown up like he had, hadn’t had to fight for anything, hadn’t had to ever wonder whether they’d eat dinner that night or not. Partly, he knew this was his fault. Always giving into their childish wishes and whims, but he hated to see them sad, and fulfilling their childish pleas and wishes brought him a sense of purpose and need. His father had been useless to him, had never shown his face, save for a few weeks here and there infrequently. Desperately, he needed to prove to himself that he was better than him, stronger, but a deeper part of him knew he was only his children he yearned to connect with.

  His eyes turned back to the road. The freshly plowed wet mountain asphalt, snowbanks piled high on both sides of the highway. Pine trees looming on both sides obstructed the view of anything past the high walls of snow or anything further down the road. His brow furrowed, he hated coming up here. The cold was unbearable and the outdoors reminded him of his childhood. The woods were no vacation to him then, they were a means of survival, something he liked to keep hidden in the deep recesses of his mind.

  Sighing, he glanced into the passenger seat at his wife, her posh, extravagant coat zipped all the way up to her neck, her earrings hanging through her short, cut hair.

  “Nothing but the best for Ashley, whatever Ashley wants, that’s how it goes.” he thought to himself. “Including this damn trip”

  “Every damn year we take this trip” he thought to himself. Just to keep Ashley happy, keep her from going off. Their marriage was a sham and nearly everyone close to them knew it. Nate’s family, their neighbors and friends.

  He couldn’t divorce her, no, she’d get the kids. He knew it and she knew it. Even if the judge happened to hear him out, Ashley would no doubt have her lawyers dig up his DUI charge years prior. He’d instantly be labeled the alcoholic father incapable of raising two boys. What a perfect picture that would paint for her case. They’d be taken away from him, the only things he cared about in this world.

  Trapped with this woman for these next few weeks. He shuddered, their massive home helped him escape from her insanity when he could no longer bear it. He had only come along in an attempt to keep Ashley from poisoning the kids minds with her lies. He knew she was sleeping around, using drugs. She was the time bomb, she was the one incapable of raising children. But he’d never be able to prove it. No, she was far to careful for that, always an alibi, always 2 steps ahead of him.

  Years of this gone by and he was still stuck in this same place. The private investigators, the cameras, the lawyers. All money down the drain. His contempt for this woman burned deep, deep inside of him.

  Even now, in front of his children, it burned. Quickly, he snapped back into reality, realizing he was staring at his sleeping wife with a look of pure hatred. He quickly went back to driving glancing into the mirror to make sure his kids hadn’t seen.

  He’d done his best to hide the fights and the darkness from them. He knew all too well what it was like to live in a family coming apart at the seams. And at this point, ignorance was better for his kids than honesty, and he was going to keep it that way.

  He was still safe. He breathed a sigh of relief, his two boys were still locked in their juvenile argument in the back seat, disconnected from the tension and cold hatred of the adult world just inches from them. Slowly, his eyes turned back to the road. They were
nearly there. Nate could faintly make out the snow capped peaks of the foreboding yet majestic mountain. Its view slightly distorted by the grey chimney smoke billowing from the town below.

  Chapter 4

  Clark strained hard with his eyelids, struggling to open them. Encrusted shut from days of sleep and drinking, he slid his eyes open. He hadn’t left the house in close to a week, what moments he could remember were filled with the gaps in between his liquor hazed dreams and him tripping over himself to the toilet to vomit or pass out.

  “If somebody wanted to know the definition of feeling like shit they’d just have to take a quick look at me” he thought.

  Clark squinted, trying hard to pry back open his eyelids that fought back tirelessly, trying to protect his retinas from the scathing rays of the sun peeking through the blinds. Clark stumbled to his feet, nearly passing out, his eyes blurring for a moment. He stumbled, almost falling over into the dresser.

  He held tight to the windowsill in his small lonely bedroom, winded. He looked down at his bed studying it almost, “just big enough for the room but “just small enough to be cozy” at least that’s the way she put it,” Clark thought to himself. He hadn’t shared this bed with anyone in close to 19 years he thought to himself.

  “No, wait, 20 years, this March” he corrected himself. “20 years, son of a bitch, had it really been that long?”

  “20 long years wasted away with alcohol and hatred.” Clark braced for the tears he always prevented, always fought back by gritting his teeth, tensing his muscles up. But they didn’t come, he didn’t feel better, no, he felt, numb.

  It didn’t feel good, no, this wasn’t a relief from the regrets and the pain he’d dealt with for so many years, this was a far worse alternative, a hollow, aching, empty feeling inside. He had emotions that seemed trapped, like a sneeze that wouldn’t come. Leaving him waiting, pondering and searching his mind for what the next move was, what he’d do to blame his life on this time, or what he’d drown his pain out in, but really, all he felt was a sort of tiredness, exhaustion.

  His mind was too numb to feel and too tired to fight anymore. He reached for the nearby bottle, but his mind stopped him,

  “No, that wouldn’t work for this.”

  His rough hands kneaded the sweat from his brow as he racked his brain, searching for what action to take, what temporary remedy to patch over this seeping wound.

  “I have no fucking clue what will work for this.” Clark was hit all at once with this sudden realization and consciousness of his life. The sudden grasping of how long he’d spent wallowing in self pity and despair, and how much time he still had left.

  He’d wasted more than a quarter of his life away.

  For what? To live in the past? To wallow in the pain and regret that lay there?

  “What is the fucking point?”

  It was all so…damn repetitive. The result was the same every fucking time. 20 Goddamn years since Cass had died and what did he have to show for it? 17 fucking years since he’d lost his little girl Lizzie and what had he fucking got to show for it?

  No friends, no family, all he’d done was driven everyone away. Refusing to connect to anyone, lashing out at anyone that dared to get to close. All the odd jobs he’d done for people over the years were always just straight business. Collect his cash and go.

  “They don’t want to know me and I sure as hell don’t want to know them.” He’d say to himself. That, or whatever lie he was choking on that week, and he’d go about his way.”

  Pissing away what little money he’d come by on drugs or booze, he was lucky he’d paid this shack off long before Cass had died, or else he’d have been thrown out in the snow long ago.

  “How would..” His mind ached and throbbed as he searched for questions he had long avoided answering.

  “How will I be remembered?” he thought to himself.

  “Like Earl? Some drunk recluse? Pushing everyone away until he’d have no one left but himself? Running out the clock until his life wasted away?”

  “The only person in this world that I had left that was even close to a friend and I pushed him out of my life too.”

  “Now he’s gone and I’m not far off if I keep this shit storm up.” His clenched fist pounded the mattress he sat on. Jagged bed springs and clumps of fabric bounded up and down on the old cot.

  “Fuck!” he yelled out. His voice echoing off the abysmal log walls of his house. Further embedding his isolation into his mind.

  “Not like this” he thought to himself.

  “It,….. I can’t end like this.”

  He wanted redemption. He wanted, no, he needed to change, as soon as he had thought it, had committed it. Doubts crept into his mind, his past struggles echoing off his mind.

  “I can do this.” he said to himself, his voice saturated with a confidence that he hadn’t had in years.

  He stood up straighter, as he climbed off the bed. The mattress creaked and groaned as he left it. Grinning to himself, he pulled his old heavy coat over himself and walked towards his kitchen.

  An unseen edge of rug, curved up and waiting, caught his foot and sent him careening downward. Clark cracked his head hard on the corner of his dresser and was knocked out cold.

  Chapter 5

  Nate awoke in his plush, oversized bed in the Paradise Hotel to a loud crash. Tangled in the bedspread and groggy from sleep he quickly fumbled out of the bed into the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing?!”

  He came out to see his 2 kids wrestling on the floor. The shattered remains of a decorative vase sat strewn out on the floor a few feet away.

  The two boys quickly snapped up to their feet, their minds conjuring up something, thinking of an excuse.

  “Dad, he pushed me into the-“

  His father shot back quickly, cutting him off without the chance.

  “Damn it Owen!, I don’t give a shit who did it, we’ve been here one day and you two are still fighting?” Nate’s temples hissed with the fire of a hangover, gritting his teeth, he rubbed them desperately.

  “I suppose I’ll just pay for this too, no big deal right Wyatt?” Nate spit, pointing to the shattered glass strewn across the lavish carpet.

  The 2 kids were frozen in their tracks staring at their father. Stammering in their heads, they stood still, not knowing what to do. Nate stopped his rant as his eyes adjusted, he looked around, getting a sense for the room. Just now coming out of his sleep,

  “Where is your Mother?” Nate snapped.

  “She….she went down to the bar an hour ago, she said she’d be back later tonight.” Wyatt said his voice wavering, shaking.

  Nate got a foul taste in is mouth just thinking of his wife, if he could call her that, but kept his disgust to himself. Wyatt, the older of the 2 boys had just turned 17 a few weeks before they’d left, and Nate feared he was beginning to have his suspicions about his parents.

  Nate however, still couldn’t quite see him as a teenager, he still just saw the bright eyed little 5 year old boy with the all of the questions.

  “She is still their mother, they still love her” Nate thought to himself.

  “Well,….” Nate started, “Clean up the mess now, and for God’s sake try to go 5 minutes without fighting.”

  Nate stumbled back into his room his eyes still full of sleep, his tanned fingers rubbed them sleepily.

  Slowly, he stumbled into the bathroom and got in the shower, the warm streams of liquid cascading over him enclosed him in a sanctuary of warmth. Allowing him, if just for a moment to forget. To just be.

  Lost in thought in this brief escape, Nate drifted through his mind in utter relaxation.

  “What the hell would I have done if we had come somewhere like this back in the day? The kitchen is bigger here than my parent’s house was for Christ sake.” He closed his eyes as the steaming water ran over them, running over his lips. Lazily, he slung an arm up against the cold, smooth tile, bracing himself.