My stepfather & I are on two separate boats. They are small motorboats built for one person only, but not like jet-skis—they’re just slick little motorboats. We’re going very fast, skimming the surface, side by side. But then my stepfather pulls ahead & I get bumped around in his wake, almost losing control. I speed up to get back alongside him, & the speed is exhilarating so I go even faster, pulling ahead of him—maybe to get some sort of race going on—but then I don’t want him to crash in my wake so I ease up on the throttle & we ride side by side again.

Now the water’s surface is all white foam, everywhere, completely white so that it looks like snow or even ice. The sun is shining back off the water in a way that makes me think it is ice. I have to turn around & watch our two wakes—see the boats cut the white foam away to reveal the blue water underneath—to be certain we’re actually on water. But we are.

But then we are not. We’re gliding on a sur face of snow & ice, but still in our little boats, which can apparently operate like snowmobiles. We are going uphill, up the side of a mountain, & as we get higher the incline becomes steeper, so that our boats go slower & slower. I can hear my engine overworking & worry that the boat won’t make it to the top. My stepfather is having the same problems but is less worried than me. The hill is a glassy texture of white bumpy ice. By the time we get to the top my boat is barely moving. There is a ledge of ice at the very top of what is now an ice-cliff. I grab it with my hands & pull myself up & over the edge. My boat has disappeared. My stepfather is behind me & I help him over the edge as well. We stand up & brush ourselves off.

We are in a cabin made of fake wood paneling. It has only three walls. Where the fourth wall should be is just the open space that we have just come through, opening out onto the hill of ice. This cabin sits atop this hill like an open mouth with a long tongue of snow & ice pouring out of it, looking not unlike a giant frozen waterfall, stretching all the way back to the bottom, where the ice was actually just water & foam.

The cabin is small, basically a kitchenette & a booth seat near a window, much like the inside of a motor home. Fake wood is everywhere, & the appliances are small & cheap & plastic. I look out the window & see that we are high in the snowy mountains, full of icy peaks & big pine trees. There is a sense that we are very high up. I remark that the view is beautiful, but would be better if it weren’t for the bamboo outhouse situated pretty much right in front of the window.