For Thursday, November 13, 1997 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 726 words

Oh, icy

I've nearly frozen to death a few times.

One winter I came home from Penn State for the holidays. I met up with Chrissy, an old girlfriend. One night we decided to plod into the snowy midnight woods outside of town to talk. To be truthful, it was also to share a small flask of tequila under the full moonlight.

We stopped next to a flowing stream and kicked out a circle of standing room in the two-foot-deep snow. The creek babbled loudly because the water was moving too fast to freeze over, even though the temperature was just above zero. We nipped the juice and talked and laughed.

I remember Chrissy laughed a lot. She was a great laugher. And I loved to make her laugh. These were the character traits that kept our friendship alive long after our relationship ended.

Anyhow, about a half-hour along, Chrissy walked into the woods alone to pee, leaving me next to the stream. I began to fidget. I spotting two young, springy, sapling poplars growing close together right at the bank's edge. I leaned on them. They bowed with me out over the freezing water, then sprung me back to my feet. Cool. I saw a practical joke forming.

I put my left arm between the trees up to my shoulder, then leaned into them. The trees again bowed out over the steep bank, too close together to let my body slip between them, then sprung me back safely to my feet. I tried it again and again.

Then I planned my joke: I would wait for a casual point in our conversation where I would hold out my left arm and fall sideways, as if I were going to lean against one of the trees. In jest, I would let my hand slip between them, fall the length of my arm, bow out over the bone-chilling creek water -- to the pleasant sounds of Chrissy's bleats of terror -- then spring back neatly into place. She would be nicely fooled. She would laugh and laugh.

I positioned my feet and waited. Chrissy returned from the darkness. The bright moon reflected off the forest's snowy blanket, making her eyes and teeth sparkle as she approached. "I'm cold," she said, and held out her arms for a hug. Somewhere in that hug I must have moved a foot.

We talked for several minutes until the right time arrived. I think she asked me if I felt intimidated around all those smart kids at college. To this I ruminated silently, and then, in a casual, scholarly voice, said, "Well, I'll tell you…" I stuck out my left arm and leaned sideways.

Instead of going between the saplings, as rehearsed, my hand missed them both by an inch to the right. With a look of smugness and then bewilderment flashing across my face, I proceeded to fall off the bank and drop four feet into the rushing water, landing on my back with a splash. Stunned, I lay there sprawled out in the creek bed. The icy water, about eight inches deep, washed over me like silk sheets. About a million years went by. Then I raised my head and shoulders above the water line, and said, "Help."

At this, Chrissy fell down laughing. She lost complete muscle control and collapsed in the snow. I could here her howling over the rushing water. She was totally useless as a lifesaver. I had to climb out on my own, unhurt but soaked to the bone. She was still on the ground. Each time she looked up at me in my big overcoat, dripping from every nadir of my body, she relapsed into hysterics. I had to help her to her feet.

"Let's get out of here. I'm going to freeze to death," I said. At this, she fell down again. Again, I pulled her up. We walked toward the dirt road back to town. By the time we reached it, my clothes had frozen against my body. My trouser legs were stiff. I could barely walk. Still, she laughed.

About 50 yards along, headlights from an orange van appeared behind us. We flagged it down. The driver turned out to be George Terbovich, a former high school classmate of mine. He gave us a ride to my house.