One Snowy Day

One Snowy Day

I woke up to the sound of nothing. That is to say, nothing has its own unique sound or absence. That absence woke me. It took me a few minutes to realize that the normal order of things had been disturbed.

Bess was still asleep, snoring lightly. I lifted the covers gingerly and stood up. She had been sleeping poorly of late. I kept telling her a snifter of brandy at bedtime was not going to help with this and other effects of the pandemic and sequester, but she ignored me.

So I let her sleep as long as she could. I grabbed my robe and tiptoed out of the room across the hall to Sara’s bedroom. I still thought of it as Sara’s even though she hadn’t used it for some 15 years. I pulled the curtains aside and was gobsmacked. Snow. A lot.

This sight brought breezes of nostalgia, making snowmen and angels and mock fights with Sara. We didn’t get snow every year, and even when we did it was usually a dusting. But this! I could see tire tracks that suggested at least six inches. Those tracks were from the only driver brave enough to give it a go on our street. The city had no dedicated snowplows. We got by with a few dozen scoops attached to city vehicles which removed the accumulation from a handful of arterials.

I headed downstairs in pursuit of coffee. While it was brewing I looked in the front closet to see what might pass for snow gear. Warm jacket and hat, check. Boots? If I ventured out I’d have to make do with plasticized garden shoes over old wool socks. But where was I planning to go?

I had a peculiar notion.

I grabbed a cup and headed to the basement. I was sure it was down here somewhere, but where exactly I had no idea. Maybe Bess knew. I trudged back up the groaning stairs. Ring shank nails needed, for which I cheered. I used to put off chores but now I sought them out. They occupied time.

I poured another cup and took it upstairs to Bess.

I put it on her nightstand as I bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Time to get up, honeybun. It’s a snow day.”

“Mhmmhm.” The sheets rustled as she turned over onto her back. Her blue eyes were foggy and at half staff.

“We had an overnight snowfall. I’m guessing six inches.”

She blinked. “Another excuse for staying in the house.”

I handed her the coffee. “I think, we should go sledding.”

She sipped loudly. “Did you say sledding?

“I did. You and I should find the biggest nearby hill and go sledding. That is, if we can find Sara’s old sled. Any idea where it is?”

Bess sat up in bed. “You’re serious.”

“It could be fun. We haven’t been sledding since – “

“Since never, approximately. I don’t think Sara ever used that sled.” Bess put her feet on the floor and felt around for her slippers.

“I distinctly recall one time. Sara was school age and the snow was heavy enough that school was cancelled. She was big enough to take it by herself down a bunny slope. Think we still have it?”

“Considering we haven’t cleaned out the basement in at least a decade, there’s a good chance,”

I retreated to the kitchen and started preparing my soon-to-be-famous roasted pepper, cheese and mushroom omelette for two. Sledding? I wasn’t sure I could bend my joints in the proper position, let alone navigate down a hill. And as for Bess, since the lockdown her most vigorous physical activity had been tearing apart cardboard boxes for recycling. Lifting the snifter didn’t count.

I heard her maundering around upstairs. Lately I could only guess what was going on inside her. She had become monosyllabic-bordering-on-mute for months. I had been reduced to looking for nonverbal cues and things like how she folded her laundry (no longer creasing it flat) or the expression on her face when she woke up (seemingly regretful). The sequester caused her to lean away, seeking greater privacy and solitude, shielding her inner life from me, guarding the final part of herself that she could call solely her own.

“You ‘bout ready to eat?” I shouted up the stairs.

“On my way.”

I heard her clump down in her usual Covid outfit of head-to-toe sweats, her hair a bird’s nest extending from shoulder to shoulder.

“You didn’t have to dress on my account.” I slowly poured the egg mixture into the pan. “This will be good for what ails you.”

“What makes you think something ails me?”

I chose not to respond rather than providing an annotated list. I had learned through the years that this kind of discussion went nowhere fast. Whatever was bothering her I would learn in good time, or not at all.

“After we eat, I’m going to look downstairs for that sled.”

“You know you’d be the oldest guy there without a child. Which could be weird. Also, if you do manage to get down the hill on Sara’s sled and have the bad luck of hurting yourself, who’s going to bring you home?”

“I figured you’d be there. Not just as the medical team but that you’d take a few runs yourself.”

She looked up, eyes wide. “Not likely. I have a Zoom meeting in an hour.”

“Call in sick. Better yet, call in well. That’s what I plan to do.”

“You should go. Obviously, you’ve been penned up too long. Your crazy is gaining the upper hand.”

“Thanks. I don’t disagree about the need to get out. But I think that applies to you, too. You could use some fresh air, exercise and a change. Mostly the change.”

Bess pushed around her eggs. She reached for the coffee and took a gulp. “I dunno. I feel more comfortable in the house. It’s just safer here. Fewer risks. And sledding? I’d rather not.”

“C’mon. When was the last time you played in the snow? Or played, period.”

I gave her what I hoped was my cow-eye look, an echo of what convinced 22-year-old Bess to go out with me, I remain convinced to this day. She was so out of my league I didn’t even think about it, but we’d cross paths all the time, shared some classes and on occasion even greetings. I was in a shy period that had lasted since puberty and wouldn’t end until my third real job. Every time I’d watch her walk away I’d think, “Damn,” sometimes even accidentally saying it out loud. After months of this, I knew I had to try or I’d regret forever. When she accepted, I secretly attributed it to the cow-eyes, which Mom had said always melted her resolve. I’d held fast to that story, secretly, ever since, as the explanation for my singular social success.

I dusted it off, knowing I was out of practice. But I still had the same eyes, what could be so hard? At least this time it was across the breakfast table and not waiting in line at a nondescript cafeteria. I fixed my best gaze on her, pleading, cajoling, entreating, challenging. She held it for a second too long, then looked away.

I gently touched her chin, pointing her face in my direction and uttered, in my most plaintive tone, “Please?”

The six-letter word, along with The Look, disarmed her. She was discomfited, maybe even drawn back to that first time I had reached into my bag of trick.

“Okay, you win. but only as observer and possible medical aide.”

This qualified as half a loaf, for sure.

While Bess was upstairs rummaging for anything that could pass for snow gear, I headed again to the basement. I moved aside generations of discarded exercise equipment, single-use kitchen appliances purchased with the best of intentions, superannuated toys and empty boxes that just seemed too nice to throw away.

I grabbed a pair of work gloves, wary of what might be hidden in the piles, and began restacking as I burrowed. About three layers deep I spied a flash of red flaking paint surmounted with stained, worn wood. I yanked and discarded surrounding detritus and voila! Sara’s ancient Flexible Flyer made its encore. I ported it upstairs.

“I found it.”

“Good?”

“Good. In good condition and ready to go. I suppose I could wax the runners. If we had any wax. But for a brief run, good enough.” I quickly got dressed and located my ancient wool socks, along with those gardening shoes. “OK. Let’s do this.”

“OK. I’ll be down in a minute.”

I retrieved my old parka from the closet and was relieved to find my watch cap and mittens in its pockets.

Bess was bundled up like a mummy. She must have put on three layers, looking like a parade inflatable. She walked stiff-legged. Underneath it all she bore an expression of harassed tolerance, like a well-treated hostage.

“Think you’re warm enough? You’re dressed for a voyage with Admiral Byrd.”

“If I’m going to be standing around while you make a fool of yourself I’m at least going to keep warm. “

“Let’s shake a leg so we can get out there before the area is taken over by kids.”

“One can only hope,” she said full of regret. “I let them know I was going to be unavailable for a couple of hours, so that’s our window.”

“Head ‘em up and move ‘em out.”

I climbed in the car and opened the passenger door.

“Where are we going?” Bess asked.

I stamped the snow off my shoes and took off my mittens with my teeth. “I think the biggest nearby hills are in that park off 19^th.”

The park normally was a ten-minute drive, but given the conditions it was more like thirty before we pulled into the small off-street parking area, where there was just one other car, a white lump that had apparently overnighted.

“What luck. We’ve beaten the crowds.”

“Some luck,” Bess groused.

I was exasperated. “Hey, would you cheer up? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I guess I’m not a winter person, or a snow person.” She reached for the door handle.

“Let’s hope this experience can moderate your attitude.” I opened the door, grabbed Sara’s old sled under one arm and trudged through what looked like it might be the paved path, with Beth several steps behind. She walked slowly, kicking the snow aside petulantly. The snowfall had muffled any noise from the surrounding streets. I heard a bird whistle in two parts, followed by an unmistakable trill. It was a cardinal, and the bird stood out prominently on the bare branches just in front of us. I pointed him out to Bess.

“Sounds like he’s telling us something. I think he’s urging us to get wet, get wet, get wet.”

Bess looked up at the tree. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s saying. ‘My feet my feet my feet.’ I’ll bet he’s getting cold up there, his bare feet stuck in the snow on that branch.”

“Huh.” I shuffled on as the path swept upward. We hadn’t been to this park in a while, maybe a few years. I dimly recalled a rocky promontory with a pebbled approach, and on the other side a declivity that subsided near a pond. Or maybe it was just a grassy area, I couldn’t recall.

“I think this is the place,” I shouted back to Bess, clambering up at a snail’s pace. “It’s the highest point in the park, and as I recall it has a hard surface underneath. It might take a few runs to tamp it down.”

“If you say so.” Bess joined me at the top. “I gotta admit, this is a nice change from the home office.”

“You’re welcome.” I dropped the sled on the ground next to me and ran it back and forth a few feet while hanging on to the steering rope. “Do you want to watch my departure or greet me at the end?”

“I think the proper place for me is near the bottom, in case you need an alley-oop or more to get back on your feet.”

I waited while Bess found a level location a few feet beyond what might be the end of my run. The wind had picked up and was driving particles of snow against my face like salt crystals. I could hear Sara’s baby voice in my ears with her delight at the surprise and wonder of her first, unexpected snowfall. I couldn’t wait to call her later today.

“OK,” Bess shouted, her voice ghostly in the snow. “Give it a shot.”

I knelt next to the sled and ran it back and forth like I had seen the skeleton racers do in the Olympics. One, two, three, jump on and down the hill. It was going faster than I had anticipated.

“You might want to move back a bit,” I shouted, breathless. “Or I’ll steer around you.” I grabbed the wooden bar, along with the rope, and tentatively tested its responsiveness. It seemed easy to control. As my speed approached maximum I swooshed by Bess and managed to navigate a graceful 270-degree arc, leaving me just beyond and a little behind her.

“Whoa!”

Bess ran to me in baby steps. “You need any help?”

“I think I’ve got it.” I rolled onto the snow and pointed my feet downhill, then placed my mittened hands on the upside and stood. “I wanna do it again.” I walked around the perimeter of the hill to the path and back up. This time, I decided to see how far I could go in a straight line. I followed my track downhill and finally halted several body lengths beyond Beth.

“One more time,” I announced. This time, I managed to describe a curvy path, albeit at much reduced velocity. I rolled off and made angels in the snow. “Hey, you should give this a try.”

“Thanks but no.” Bess’s expression had hardly changed from her waking-up scowl. I felt like I needed to do something to break her mood. This wasn’t my pre-Covid wife, and I wanted her back.

“Bess, look. You need to do something to shake you up, to get you out of your dark mood. I’ve been there, too. I think the proper prescription for what ails you is to try something totally different.”

She kicked at the snow. “Like sledding down the hill?”

“Uh-huh.”

She looked around, her face reddening. “OK, against my instincts, I’ll take your advice. Maybe it’ll help. My mood. And everything.” She grabbed the sled rope and climbed up. “Ready?” she shouted from the top.

“Go for it.”

She took a running start and jumped on the sled. She was much more an athlete then me and had gotten up a real head of steam. She was whisking down and let out a yelp.

Then she hit a bump, probably a rock, and the sled continued toward me but Bess went tumbling down on her own off to the left. I heard a “crack” and the next thing I knew her body had crashed through the ice of the pond I wasn’t sure was there. I was at the edge in two seconds.

             Bess was in water above her waist. “Can you climb out?

             “My feet are stuck, probably in mud. It’s freezing in here.”

             “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.”

             “Be careful yourself.”

             There was no place to stand and grab her that was solid ground. I tried to reach her from my knees but I couldn’t get close enough. She was shivering.

             “It’s okay, honey. I’ll think of something.”

             “Easy for you to say.” Her teeth chattered and her lips were bluish.

             I looked around and ran back to the sled. I unknotted the steering rope, which was about a yard long, and ran again to Bess. Carefully, I edged on my knees as close as I could to the water.

             “Here you go.” I threw the end of the rope which hit her on the nose.

             “Thanks a ton.”

             “You’re supposed to catch it.”

             “Let me take off my mittens.” She threw them in my general direction. “At the count of three.”

             “Here you go. One, two, three.” Success.

             “Now what?”

             I stood up and dug my heels into the soft ground, trying to create some resistance so I wouldn’t slip. “Try to move your feet out of the muck while I pull you forward.”

             “OK.” Her voice was shaky. “Here I go.” The line tensed.

             “Wrap it around your hand. Then I’ll pull. Take tiny steps.” I leaned back as far as I dared.

             Ever so slowly and with repeated encouragement, Bess made her way to the pond’s edge. “Lean forward. Give me your hand and I’ll pull you out.”

             I sat feet forward, knees bent, dug into my footholds and pulled until Bess was more than half out, splayed on the snow. She wriggled forward and into my arms. We were both in tears, muddy and shaking. “You OK?”

             She laughed, the sound echoing in the park. “Never better. You know, mud enhances your best features.”