Snow Angels

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. The thick pearls of snow drifted to the sidewalk with a gentleness that belied the violence of its icy hands sending shudders down the spine of the young woman shuffling down the path. Her footsteps left slashes in the glittering dust coating the ground as she made her way through the heart of an empty campus where gray-brown ivy clung to the side of brick buildings that have watched over these grounds for centuries. 

Long, arched windows stared down at her from several floors up, dark and empty except for the intermittent few that reflected the streetlights below. Each time she passed into the space between the streetlights’ beams, the young woman ceased to exist. Her hands--clenched in fists and plunged deeply into the front pockets of her ratty sweatshirt--stopped being hands. The pain that had started to set in became an icy numbness entirely separate from her body. Her eyes became just another set of empty windows reflecting what little light there was. She faded so perfectly into the background that no one looking on would even notice a break in the darkness. 

Not that there was anyone to be looking at her. 

Not that there was anyone to be looking for her. 

The students had long since gone home for the break. Packed their clothes and their pillows and their blankets and all the little odds and ends they couldn’t live without for a month until they returned to campus. Hopped in mom and dad’s car and sped off for home. They were probably all at parties, sipping smuggled drinks. Or cozied up with their families, sharing popcorn and candy. Either way, they all had better ways to count down the last hours of the year. 

It could be her. 

It should be her. 

Except that she didn’t have mom and dad to drive her home or bring her snacks. She just had dad, who she hadn't wanted to call for a ride, but she’d dialed his number anyway. And he hadn't answered. Probably passed out. Definitely drunk. But she had figured her odds of dying in the cold were greater than her odds of dying in a drunk driving accident with her father. She’d survived every time before, hadn't she? But it didn’t matter. Because he didn’t answer. He never answered when she needed him. And when he did answer, he made her wish she hadn't called. 

She also didn’t have money. Money for books. Money for tuition. Hell, she didn’t think there was so much as a notebook in that house, never mind a calculator or a backpack. Nor did she have the high school diploma she had promised herself she’d go back for or the resume filled with extracurriculars. Cheerleading. Debate team. She couldn’t even get into this school on a pity scholarship. She was lower than the lowest. Beyond help. Beyond saving. 

She didn’t know why her feet had chosen to bring her here of all places. Why she hadn't headed straight for home. Why she hadn't taken the most direct path out of the cold. Why she insisted on reminding herself of all the things the world had decided she wasn’t worthy of. 

She trudged on. 

Past neatly trimmed hedges. Past deserted parking lots. Past more grand, old buildings until she reached the grandest and the oldest. The one with the columns thick as tree trunks and the wide expanse of stone steps leading up to an arched and ancient set of double doors. The one with the steeple that pierced the snow-gray sky and the ornate clock that ticked down the minutes until midnight. It stared down upon a vast sea of perfectly kept grass. 

It’s late spring. The sky behind the steeple is the most perfect blue. Cotton candy clouds streak the sky, feeling close enough to reach out and pull free a tuft of spun sugar. She’s just watching them roll by, splayed on her back with her hands behind her head. She’s not the only student sunbather soaking up rays and listening to the rhythmic thwack of a football passed back and forth. Music drifts softly from the far side of the quad. People are laughing. The sun heats her face and the spring air holds the promise of summer fun soon to come. 

Her face felt warmer as she left the sidewalk for the grass, that same slashing trail following behind her as she made her way toward the front of the building. She shook her hood back as she came to a stop just short of the stone steps. Her ears tingled with the cold. Her stomach rumbled and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything. She shook that thought away and gazed up at the building. 

She stares at the back of a stranger’s head, silken blonde hair spilling from beneath a black square-topped cap. An identical cap sits atop her own head. She’s one of hundreds in this single file line, facing the great double doors and waiting nervously for them to open. When they do, the sun gleams off of a pure white canopy so large it spans the entire quad. A band plays that slow, familiar march as they start down the steps and a faceless crowd cheers when they appear. It’s too hot to be wearing these long black robes, but she doesn’t mind. She’ll shed them as soon as the ceremony ends. Her parents will be so proud. She starts to look for them in the crowd. 

Her foot slipped on the snow-slick grass and she stumbled, trying to right herself. Her arms flailed and cut through empty air. There was no one to catch her. But the grass was soft when she landed on her back. She hadn't realized she’d been walking toward the center of the quad. She hadn't realized she’d taken off her hoodie and that was the soft, crumpled thing clutched in her stiff hand. She forced herself to let go. She stared into the sky where the snowflakes had replaced the stars. 

She’s on her back in the middle of the quad, staring up as the snow drifts down. A thick cap lined with sheep-soft fur covers her ears. A thick coat lined with sheep-soft fur covers her body. Thick boots with sheep-soft fur cover her feet. She doesn’t have to look to know her mother is lying in the snow beside her. A snowflake alights on the tip of her nose and she smiles. She raises her arms, cutting swathes through the iridescent dust. She lowers her arms again, completing the arc. Rustling at her side tells her her mother is doing the same.  

In a steady beat, they sweep their arms up and down, up and down. 

In a steady beat, they forge wings in the snow in a rhythm so soothing she closes her eyes and knows she’s mere moments from sleep. 

In a steady beat, the bell atop the building’s clock tower rang out the last of its midnight peals.