The Mother

She bundled up all three boys, and she carried the cooler filled with sandwiches, tuna on rye, into the back of the Toyota. Snowing, but soft flurries, would lead to the perfect sledding weather. This is what she thought as she slid the truck into first gear, and backed out of the driveway. The hill up on Yankeetown Highway was sure to be packed full of the college kids home for winter break. Because of this she took a left turn to head onto Lincoln Avenue, the boys in the back punching each other in the arms. This was a game involving who could take the hardest punch. No one ever won. When they reached the Ohio River, the boys began to get fussy; the twins were fighting over the plastic T-Rex with only one arm, and Sam, the older boy, was rolling his eyes with his headphones glued into his ears. This might be the last year he would be willing to join his very uncool mother and younger brothers for a sledding adventure. The old sled was a classic toboggan, handed down from the mother's father years ago. It was wooden, with chipped red paint. After the twins were born, the mother decided to buy two of those new, bucket slides, one green (John's favorite color) and one blue (George's favorite color) although, now, and really to no surprise, they both preferred the old, solid toboggan. This is most likely due, the mother thought, to the fascination with watching their older brother handle the sled down steep hills, barely missing the trees in the meantime. The mother pulled onto the side of the road, as there were no parking spots for this "secret" sledding location (only the old-time locals knew about this) and she walked around the side of the truck to unbuckle the boys. The snow was coming down harder now, and the mother wondered how hard it might be to get the truck out of this spot in a few hours. And there was a roast to de-thaw, and the dog would need to be let out. She asked Sam to get the cooler, and off they were into the cold flurry of the morning. It was a solid walk to get up this hill; about 20 minutes if you were a fast walker. Walking with three boys, two of whom were obsessed with stopping every 10 seconds to eat snow, throw snow, lay down in snow, meant that this walk would take closer to an hour. Sam, trudging farthest behind, couldn't help but laugh at his overly-excited baby brothers. That excitement leaves at Sam's age, and in comes this angst - this desire to be alone - to be indifferent - to appear above the rest, had set into Sam this past summer. The mother loved her oldest son best, even though she knew that she shouldn't admit this. As they crossed the final stretch of forest to mount the first of the three hills, the mother noticed a group of children a short distance ahead. Upon approaching this group, the mother recognized the woman she had been waiting for. Maria. They hadn't seen each other in years since Maria moved to Illinois with her husband. "Maria," the mother called out - the word itself feeling foreign in her mouth. Maria ran towards her and grabbed her arm first, pulling the rest of the mother's body in after. "How long has it been?" Maria asked, gasping for breath and looking down at her three children. "It has been ten years, Maria." Maria ignored this, pretending not to hear, and then walked over to the twins and leaned down to their level. "Your mom was my closest, most favorite girl in the whole world." Maria spoke out, her voice sounding childlike, sweet and mischievous. She popped back up and grabbed the mother's hand, "Ready to sled? Come on!" Maria cried, bounding ahead with her brown curls flapping wildly in the white, snowy day. The mother couldn't help but notice the tired look behind her eyes. Ten years. And here we are again. The mother situated the twins on their sleds, and off they went. Sam readied the toboggan, and started his first slide down. Maria and the mother stood there holding hands, smiling, but also shivering. There was newness and oldness existing together. Sam made his way back up the hill, and asked the mother if he would like a turn. Maria jumped on the chance, and grabbed the mother's hand, again, to place her on the sled. "Let's go down together." Maria whispered, her bright eyes shining. The mother, hesitant at first, got on the sled, Maria sliding in behind her. "I'll drive." Maria commanded. As the mother and Maria reached the edge of the hill, the mother looked back at her son, Sam, and asked for him to give them a push. Sam did as was told, and watched his mother slip away with the woman in curls behind her. The hill was steep and the snow was more slick than the mother had thought. She should have taken a closer look before letting the twins go down on their own, she thought. The feeling was cold now, as the wind whipped her face-first in what felt like a never-ending hill. Maria was laughing joyfully behind, and zigzagging in every direction to avoid trees, rocks, and other sledders. The mother was unsure as to why Maria had come back. There was no place for her. This was a bad decision. The mother looked up from her thoughts to see an approaching tree in the distance, a little way off to the left. As Maria held her head back, laughing, the mother realized what might happen. What would happen. There was a crack, and then there was a scream. And the mother couldn't find her breath. And she couldn't feel her legs. And the snow continued to fall on her face, and her eyelids, and into her mouth, as she realized that she was the one screaming. She was the one.