The next thing I was aware of was shivering violently, hearing the troublesome wind whipping our car with a vengeance. Howie was pulling some sweat pants over my slacks. I think he wrapped my feet and my head in clothing. I was barely aware of him coming close to me, as he bundled us up into a cocoon. Then I would awaken and feel him unwrap us while he pushed the door open, off and on to keep it from freezing up and piling up with snow. He may even have gone out once or twice but I cannot remember.

I woke up once in a panic because the headlights had gone out and everything was black. So black that nothing, absolutely nothing was visible. It was the most terrifying experience I had ever had before or since, like being lost in a big, black hole of despair and futility.

Thirst! Oh my God! I was so thirsty. If I had had a mouth to use I would have begged for some snow to suck on and consume and pretend it was a big glass of fresh squeezed lemonade on a hot summer’s night. So refreshing and satisfying. Oh, how thirsty I was for that. For water. For snow. Even for some spit in my own mouth.

Howie awakened me at a certain point to tell me to listen. “Do you hear that?” he asked with caution.

“Huhhhhh?” I managed. At that first moment, however, after being awakened, all I could hear were cymbals crashing together in my head. I had the most excruciating headache imaginable.

“A motor,“ he said weakly. “It’s a motor.“ He began to unwind himself from me, from the clothes, as quickly as possible which really was as slow as a slug because there was not much left in him either. Finally, free of encumbrances, he pushed hard on the door to get out. He had to push so hard with what ever strength he could muster, that when the door finally gave way, he fell out into the snow, which was pretty high, letting in a blinding glow of morning sunshine against a totally clear, blue sky.

I tried so hard to smile, as I saw him stumbling, crawling, through the snow, as I realized the storm had passed and we were still alive. He had trouble using his voice. He cried, “Help!” in a feeble way. I could no longer see him but I could imagine him scrambling on to the road through that powdery white stuff, flaying his arms, gesticulating his hands, for someone to stop.

I unwrapped myself and pulled my body toward the door, squinting like a mole coming out of a hole. I could not see where he went but I could hear him calling.

Damn, I was so spent, so weary as I lifted myself out of the car, hanging onto the door for support and reaching down into the fresh snow to gather up a handful and put it into my parched mouth.

Then I looked up from the blinding snow, through narrowed eyes and saw that Howie had stopped a snow plow and I knew that the worst was over. Or was it? No, maybe the worst was not over. I had to find a phone to call Bette and try to explain to her what had happened.

How was I ever going to do that when I was not even sure what happened myself?