Icicles

Rosemary had climbed wooden ladders at least a thousand times before. She had grown up helping cats stuck in trees, helping her Dad any time he pretended to need assistance. Rosemary would say that she was comfortable with heights. Now that she is living by herself, she handles all household jobs, big or small, dangerous or safe.

This was her first home, down payment made by her dad with her promise to repay him. She felt she was lucky to have found a place to live, especially next door to her parents. Rosemary adored her parents. Being an only child, she marveled at how quick her parents were able to release her independence. She left the backdoor of her small, one-bedroom home and walked to the shed behind her house. This was her first snow fall since moving. Her feet crunched softly in the packed, crisp snow.

I will clear the icicles, then shovel, then clean the porch… Rosemary began to list today's tasks. She enjoyed planning her days so she could finish her chores early. To her, nothing was better than relaxing at home, watching a series on Netflix, but only if her work was complete. She looked to her left, through the small forest of pine trees towards her parents’ home. Lights were already on in the kitchen. The sliding glass door remained uncovered since she moved here. Rosemary was the only person who could see in, and she found comfort in seeing the light from the kitchen. She spent many hours in the kitchen at the wooden table, completing her homework with Mom. Her mother would be expecting her to come by for their morning tea soon.

She reached the handle of the shed door and pulled it open and rushed inside. Rosemary did not want to spend one second outside she did not need to. The temperature had to be below 0°C. I wish I would have waited for it to warm up. But there is no time like the present. She grabbed the hammer and ladder. She dragged her tools through the snow to the side of her house that is unseen by her parents. She was eager to start removing the large icicles but even more excited to finish.

Rosemary kicked a section of snow with her foot, looking to clear a space to stand the ladder. When satisfied, she stood the ladder against the house and began to climb. There are not too many big icicles, this will only take a moment. Rosemary reached the top and leaned over the side of the ladder, hammer in hand, and prepared to swing. She drew her right hand back, and as she did so, the ladder began so slip. Rosemary began to move backwards, losing her footing. She hit the ground with a sickening thump.

Rosemary awoke, not sure where she was. The sun was high overhead. What happened? The ladder laid on top of her. She pushed it off onto the snow next to her. There couldn’t have been that much ice. Rosemary stumbled to her feet, surprised that her body was not sore. She looked at the sky and back to the roof. The sun will melt them away. Rather than risking another accident, Rosemary returned the tools to the shed. With one more look at the roof, she began to leave to go to her parent’s house, unaware that her shadow was not on the ground.

Rosemary reached the sidewalk that lined the road of their small neighborhood. She did not want to trudge through the deeper snow with her suede boots. “Hi Mr. Wilson”, Rosemary called to the old man across the street. He lived in an even smaller house than her, more of a trailer but flush with the ground, and he had to be at least triple her age. Mr. Wilson did not look up from his careful steady walk towards his mailbox. Rosemary shook her head, feeling sad for his poor hearing.

Snow could be beautiful, the ice glistened on the branches of the trees in the sunlight. Rosemary despised winter. If it was not for her family, she would have moved away to somewhere warm. But her parents loved the area, having grown up here over fifty years ago and she knew someone had to take care of them. Rosemary reached the driveway, surprised to see that it was still snow covered. She groaned. I will do it after my breakfast.

There is a special silence when the snow falls. The snow seems to absorb every sound and leaves you feeling that is somehow nostalgic. This afternoon seemed especially quiet. Usually her father would be working in the garage on some new idea her mother had but today the door remained shut. Rosemary took her first step onto the driveway. Weird, no noise? Rosemary looked behind her. No footprints. Didn’t realize the snow was that hard. She trudged up to the door and knocked. No response, and of course she didn’t bring her key.

She rolled her eyes and began the trek back to the house. She looked down to her feet as she grabbed the handrail, hoping to keep herself steady. Rosemary fell usually no less than three times per winter. She looked towards her home and noticed footprints in the snow from her parent’s side door. The footprints followed the door, through the trees.

Rosemary walked towards the footprints and looked behind herself again. She was still not leaving prints the snow. Sure, her parents might weigh a bit more than her but how could this be? Rosemary jumped, wanting to stop the thoughts that began to race through her head. She took a step forward and looked behind. Nothing.

She followed the footprints, hoping her parents would be at the end of the trail. They will be able to help. Rosemary thought but was not convinced. Rosemary trudged onto her property. Her suede boots remained dry. She took another look towards the roof. The icicles were shining. Rosemary heard her parents before she could see them. Why are they crying? She started to run to the side of the house where she had been using the ladder.

She stopped. Her mother knelt on the snow-covered ground; her father beside her mother. Cradling a body. Her body. Blood trickled from the ear down her limp neck. Her parents wailing. Rosemary stood, stunned. She had never seen her father cry before, but she supposed she had also never seen herself dead before. “Hello?” She whispered. No response.

Rosemary walked forward, crouched on the ground, and touched her fathers’ shoulder. At least, she put her hand to his shoulder and felt nothing, nor did he look to her. She screamed. No response from either of them. Only tears. Tears falling and shining like melted icicles. Rosemary pulled her arm back and slapped her father. Her hand did not hit his face or go through it, but was almost like hitting a soft pillow, no noise, no stinging pain. Her hand had cupped his cheek, then dropped.

Rosemary looked to the icicles again. Clouds covered the sun and the land turned grey. Rosemary began to laugh.