NYCM Flash Fiction: R1 1st PLACE
MAJESTIC PIZZA
Martin and Beverly Winship were as ill-suited to adventure as they were to eating sushi.
"I don't understand why barbecued eel on seaweed is appealing. Why would I give somebody money to feed me that?"
"I'm not sure if you noticed, but there are tentacles on your rice cube."
They picked up a pizza on the way home.
Rent a Jeep. Take off the roof. Drive through the Rockies. Be adventurous.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
"I want a yellow Jeep," Beverly said.
"It costs extra for that."
"How much extra?"
"Extra."
"I've always wanted to drive through the mountains in a yellow Jeep."
"You've never once mentioned driving through the mountains in a yellow Jeep."
"You don't listen when I talk."
"What?"
"I want the yellow one, Martin."
"I'm not paying extra for the yellow one, Beverly."
They got the yellow one.
Martin spent several weeks planning their route, covering the surface of the kitchen table in guide books and maps.
"Move your stuff. It's time for supper"
"I've just organized it."
"I've just made supper. Supper trumps pamphlets."
"They're not pamphlets. They're maps."
"There's only one road through Banff, Martin. You can go forward or backward. That's it."
"I'm familiarizing myself with the terrain."
"Can you familiarize yourself with the terrain somewhere other than the kitchen table?"
"It has the best light."
"You can become a cartographer after supper."
They ate their supper in the living room.
"I really want to stop at Athabasca," Martin said.
"The glacier?"
"Yeah."
"Why do you want to stop at a glacier?"
"It's the world's most accessible glacier."
"It sounds boring."
"It's a UNESCO world heritage site."
"A block of ice is a world heritage site?"
"It's majestic."
"Who says majestic?"
"We're stopping at Athabasca glacier."
"I want to do the hot springs."
"After the glacier."
"Fine."
"Fine."
Martin slept on the couch that night.
He bought books about the history of the Colombia ice field, quizzing Beverly every morning while they drank their coffee on the front porch.
"How thick is Athabasca?"
"I don't know, Martin."
"It is an estimated three hundred metres thick. How wide is it?"
"I don't care."
"Six kilometres."
"We're out of cream."
Martin said he'd go get some. He didn't come home for four hours.
When they picked up their Jeep at the rental company, Beverly spent twenty minutes playing Tetris with their luggage while Martin filled out the paperwork. By the time she'd managed to squeeze all of their bags into the space that was definitely not designed for bags, she was panting and sweating and deeply regretting their decision to rent a Jeep.
"Maybe we should get an SUV instead," she said, wiping her brow with the back of her arm.
Martin ignored her.
They took off the roof and clambered inside, Beverly fiddling with her seat while Martin plugged Athabasca Glacier into his GPS.
"Do we really need the GPS?"
"I don't want to miss it."
"Won't it be kind of hard to miss a five kilometre long glacier?"
"Six kilometres."
They drove in silence, for a while.
"My seatbelt is digging into my neck," Beverly said.
"Push your seat back."
"It'll hurt my back."
"Lower it, then."
"That will hurt my knees."
"Take it off."
"What if we hit a deer?"
Martin shrugged.
"You want me to die."
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like sometimes.
Beverly ignored him.
As the scenery began to change from the flat, brown landscape of Calgary to the peaked mountain tips of the gods, Martin and Beverly marvelled at the magnificence of such a sight. Beverly would never say it, but majestic was the right word. The mountains made them feel small, and insignificant. Martin pictured Titans and Giants roaming the Earth long before the arrival of man, scratching their backs on the mountains like bears to trees. The silence changed, warmed, and Martin reached for Beverly's hand.
He squeezed.
She squeezed back.
When they arrived at Athabasca, Martin had barely put the Jeep in park before he was bouncing out of the car, his guidebook in hand. He had a spring in his step despite his left foot having fallen asleep. Beverly trailed eagerly after him, rubbing her neck from the pressure of her stupid seatbelt and limping a little from her sore knees. But both of them were smiling, and as Beverly caught up she took Martin's hand as they stood at the first marker of where the ice used to be.
They stared out at the glacier, the evening sun glinting over the tip of the mountain, an icy wind whipping around them as they took it all in.
"Beverly?" Martin said.
"Yeah."
"This is kind of boring."
"But it's an UNESCO world heritage site."
They laughed until their ribs ached.
As they piled back into the car, Martin reached across the dash and helped Beverly adjust her seatbelt so it wouldn't dig into her neck.
"Thank you," she said.
Martin didn't answer. He was too busy plugging in the GPS coordinates for the nearest hot spring.
When they pulled up, Beverly wrinkled her nose.
"Why does it smell like rotten eggs?"
"Sulphur. From the bacteria that breaks down the minerals in the water."
"I don't think I want to swim in that."
"Me either."
"Martin?"
"Yeah."
"Are we boring?"
Martin paused, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"We're majestic."
That night, they ate their pizza in bed.