Zero Degrees

OPEN SEASON | by TF&G Humor Editor REAVIS Z. WORTHAM

 

 

 

WRONG WILLIE and I were sitting in my deer blind, hoping a deer or hog would drop by. It was late evening, and despite a recent warmup, early winter had returned with a vengeance, bringing the possibility of snow showers or freezing rain, depending on the weather’s fickle mood.

Feeling like I was in the Arctic, I pulled a wool scarf higher around my neck. “I’m freezing to death.”

He side-eyed me. “You look like the Michelin Man, with all those clothes on.”

“I’m wearing all this because I’m cold.” I wished I’d worn my ugly canvas Overland hat with the rabbit fur ear flaps. I don’t get to wear it much, because everyone makes fun of it, but let me tell you, when I pull that thing down over my head, both eyes roll back in ecstasy.

There’s something weird about me (don’t say it), because I feel the same way in the summertime when I tie a biker’s scarf or do-rag on my head to keep the sweat out of my eyes. It’s that wonderful feeling of something snug around my head.

My paternal grandmother wore a tight scarf on her head all the time. I don’t think there’s a picture of her without it and I’ve always wondered if she even had hair. 

Willie gave out an evil chuckle. “You remind me of the little kid in A Christmas Story who can’t put his arms down.” He laughed louder. “Don’t fall down, or you won’t be able to get up.”

He was almost right. Besides the bottom layer of Hot Chilly thermal covering me from ankle to neck, I wore wool socks, canvas pants, a thick thermal undershirt, a high-tech sweater made from something I can’t pronounce, and an insulated coat. Wool gloves kept my fingers from freezing off and dropping onto the floor like broken candy canes, and of course, the aforementioned wool scarf, and my ever-present felt hat.

I reached down and picked up a small propane heater. “I’m turning this on, and I don’t care what you say.”

Pulling one glove off with my teeth, I dug around underneath all those layers until a lighter came to hand. Firing up the little stove, I adjusted the flame to optimal performance and sat it on the floor away from Willie.

He took off his coat. “You’re gonna kill me before this is over.”

“There’s a good possibility, but it won’t be from heat.”

He scooted away to put some distance between us. It reminded me of how the War Department slides to the other side of the bed at night when a hot flash washes over her.

I wished she was close by, having one right then. They always warm me up.

“Just why are you so cold these days?” Willie cracked a window, pretending to peek out, but I knew it was to get some air.

“That stinking arrythmia problem I had months ago. I was fine until they put those two stents into my heart, and now I have to take blood thinners and I’m cold all the time.”

“Didn’t know you had a heart.”

I waited for the drum rimshot after such an old, weak joke.

Willie drummed, ba-dum-bang on the little shelf in front of us. “I remember my grandaddy. He was always cold. Spent most of his last years sitting in front of the fireplace, wrapped up in a blanket and drinking Wild Turkey to keep his innards warm.”

“That sounds good.”

“The fireplace?”

“All of it.” I moved a little closer to the heater and smelled material that was getting a little too warm. “I think my mustache is icing up.”

“You’re gonna get it so hot in here this deer stand’s gonna catch fire.”

“I won’t mind. Then I can stand beside it and warm up.” I checked outside, but figured it was so cold the deer were huddled up together somewhere. “I used to think my old grandaddy was nuts when I was a kid. They kept that space heater cranked up so high you couldn’t stay in the house, and that was usually in May.”

Willie opened the window a little wider and took his gloves off. “You’d have died back on the Breckenridge lease back in the day, if you’d been on blood thinners. Remember that morning we woke up and you threw some water across the table to wash it, and it froze into a sheet of ice before it could run off?”

“We were much younger then.” I thought about those nights sleeping in the old school bus we’d renovated into something slightly resembling a bunkhouse. “I wish I’d brought that sleeping bag I used back then. I could use it in here. It’s rated down to zero degrees.”

“You too, huh?”

“What?” I was trying to keep my teeth from chattering, wishing I was sitting in that bag. I have to confess, there were several times over the years when I was hunting in pop-up blinds, I’d take it with me and put it on, looking like a caterpillar sitting in a chair, but I was warm, and no one could see me.

“That zero thing I keep hearing on the radio and TV.” He quoted an announcer. “And for all this you pay zero dollars.” He opened the window wider. “Why can’t they just say ‘it costs nothing.’”

“Because dumb people need to have everything spelled out…hey, what’re you doing?”

“Taking off this wool shirt. I’m roasting in here.”

“Well, my toes are numb.”

“What’re you gonna be like in another five years?”

“An icicle, and the way you’re going, you’ll be sitting there in your drawers.”

“Look, there’s a hog.” He picked up his rifle and sighted in on the big boar that stood broadside to us.

I clamped my teeth together to keep them from chattering and spoke without moving my jaw. “If you shoot that thing, we’re gonna have to get out of here and do something with it.”

He paused, thinking. “You’re right. I’d rather go back to the cabin and build a big fire in front of a couple of fingers of bourbon.”

“On second thought, shoot the hog and let me hold your rifle barrel a few minutes to warm my hands while you go load it up in the truck, and be sure to turn on the heater, too.”

He lowered the rifle and sighed. “You used to be a lot more fun when we were younger.”

“And warmer.”

The propane heater ran out of fuel at the same time the sky lowered. “I think I have just enough time to get to the truck before I frost up.”

“From the looks of all that gray in your mustache, you already have.”

“How long have we been doing this?”

“Nearly fifty years.”

“Seems longer,” I said, and pulled up my facemask to make the long forty yard dash to the truck before my joint froze up.

 

Email Reavis Wortham at ContactUs@fishgame.com