The Snow is Not So Cold

“Snow! Snow! Snow!” shouted seven-year old Annabelle from her kitchen window. Michigan is notorious for its harsh, brutal winters, with the temperature dropping below negative thirty degrees Fahrenheit when the wind chill was taken into account. The cold didn’t bother Annabelle much; her dad would simply bound her up in her winter coat, hat, gloves, scarf, and boots, so she could make her trek through the snow unfazed.

Her favorite thing to do was play in her front yard, rolling the wet snow into solid spheres and stacking them into a magnificent snowman. Or maybe what she liked best was spotting one of her neighbors across the street making snow angels and waddling on over to join them. Or maybe it was when her father succumbed to her pleas to engage in a friendly snowball fight, trading his work boots and overalls for a fleece lined flannel and mittens. 

Annabelle perched her elbows on the windowsill gazing out at the glistening snow, the blanket of it on their lawn untouched and sparkling white. Her father entered the kitchen with a steaming mug of hot cocoa and peered over her shoulder.

“That sure is a lot of snow,” he agreed. 

Annabelle turned her head, putting on her best puppy dog eyes.

“Oh no,” her father said immediately, shaking his head. “It is way too cold out there.”

“Please, please, please!” Annabelle begged. She hopped down from the seat she had pulled up to the window and rushed to the front closet. The closet in the apartment was small, but that was perfectly fine for a small girl like Annabelle. To her, the apartment was larger than life. She loved that she shared the building with three other families; her closest friend lived in the unit beneath her. Sometimes she could stomp her feet on her bedroom floor and her friend took it as a cue to come knocking on her door, their secret Morse Code for getting together.

Annabelle wasn’t interested in playing with her friend today though; she was on winter break from school, and with her dad working his usual schedule, she had to spend most days with a babysitter. Annabelle was bent on spending this snowy afternoon with her father.

“Look, I’ve got your boots!” she declared, holding up the pair triumphantly. “And your hat and your mittens!” She began tossing everything out of the closet and onto the couch behind her. 

Her father tiredly sat on the armrest, watching his only daughter bubble with excitement. He didn’t know how he handled all her energy sometimes, but boy did he do his best.

“And look!” Annabelle chirped, “I can even put on my own jacket!” She pushed her arms in and zipped the zipper up to her chin. “You didn’t even have to help me!”

Her father could not stand to disappoint his girl, beaming so brightly. He placed his mug on the coffee table and rose to his feet. “Do you really want to go outside?” he asked.

“Really!” Annabelle said.

“No, I mean do you really want to go outside?” he asked teasingly. 

“Really, really!” Annabelle was nearly jumping with excitement. 

Her father bent to look at his daughter at eye level, his nose nearly touching hers. Annabelle waited expectantly, a grin spread wide on her face. Suddenly, he swooped Annabelle up in his arms, spinning her around the room like an airplane. Annabelle cheered with delight until her father finally set her on her feet. 

“Okay, honey, let’s get bundled up,” he said.

Annabelle threw her arms around her father’s legs; she wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

The two of them zipped up jackets, wrapped scarves, tied boots, and secured ear-flapped hats before heading out the door, down the stairs, and dashing into the snow.

The air was sparkling as what little sunlight that peeked through the clouds was reflected off of the falling flakes. The white, powdery snow looked like a soft pillow next to the slushy streets. Annabelle jumped into the pile, now approximately five or six inches deep. Bits of snow went under her collar and made her shiver with the sudden chill. She stood up to find her father already packing a neat ball of snow in his hands. When she glanced in his direction, he looked at her the way a child looked at their parents when he was caught sneaking out. 

Annabelle squealed and bolted for the other side of the yard where she began shoving snow into the best barrier she could manage. A snowball half heartedly plopped on the ground several feet away from her. She looked up to see her dad’s smiling face. Annabelle absolutely loved winter.

Samuel absolutely loathed winter. Even more, he loathed the snow. The cold he could handle, but when it was cold and wet, he found himself utterly miserable. His shoes were worn nearly thin, and making the walk downtown soaked his socks and brought frostbite to his toes. He could shove his hands deep into his hoodie pocket, because that was all that he had to wear, but it didn’t stop the chill from numbing his fingers. He ducked his head to protect his face from the wind, but his cheeks remained red and raw from windburn. 

This afternoon’s snow seemed endless. It had been snowing since Samuel woke up that morning, and he saw at least three salt trucks go past after the plows. The city was on hold. The snow was overwhelming and unrelenting. The trucks could try as hard as they like, but this city was on standby for the day. But for Samuel, the snow did not mean he could take a day off. At a minimum, he just had to keep walking to keep his blood flowing and avoid freezing to death. He had tried to loiter in a McDonald’s earlier that day, but the manager was a stickler and shooed him and the other thousands of homeless people of the city like him out every hour. If Sam found any money, he decided that he’d buy himself a tall, hot cup of coffee. That would warm not only his body, but also his soul. 

The city had been making sweeps of all the well-known spots where the homeless slept. One day, Samuel came back to his usual spot beneath the overpass to find everything he owned (what little he had) taken away, probably dumped somewhere by the ruthless police. He wondered if this city would ever make a comeback. From his perspective, he highly doubted it.

Samuel had lost his job six months back when the company he worked for went bankrupt. Just like that he was unemployed. Things quickly spiraled out of control after that. He missed his next rent payment and tried to explain to his landlord that he would need some time to get the money because he had just lost his job, but this wasn’t the first time Samuel was late on rent. He received a five-day eviction notice two days later. Try as he might, he simply could not find work. Depressed and hopeless, he resigned to roaming the streets and simply trying to survive. He hated to ask for handouts or beg for money from the curb, but if a face looked friendly enough, he might try his luck.

Samuel had tried homeless shelters and soup kitchens. He had even spent some nights in these places; he welcomed anything that felt a little bit like home. He was very grateful for the services those wonderful people provided, but in conditions like these, the buildings were overflowing with the needy, and the huge, desperate crowds filled Samuel with anxiety. He preferred the open streets, and although he hated the snow, at least he was in a place where he knew people would keep their distance from him. He tried to justify his reasoning for staying away from the shelters, telling himself that mothers with children and the elderly needed the space more than he did. These excuses flipped over and over in his mind as he painfully continued his journey through the city’s streets.

The snow continued to fall and the wind continued to howl. Inch after inch was piling in the streets and brown slush slopped on the curbs from the few slow-passing cars. Samuel sought refuge at the nearest bus stop and backed up into the far corner of the small shelter. Just his luck: there was a gaping bullet hole in the glass that made the wind whistle and send chills down his spine. He felt he would never escape this unforgiving winter. 

Meanwhile, Annabelle and her father had become exhausted from their intense snowball fight and snow angel making. They lay on their backs, watching the snow drift down in a vortex, each of them catching fat flakes on their tongues. 

“I’m pooped,” Annabelle’s father said to her. 

Annabelle turned her head to face her dad. She was pretty beat, too. “Does this mean we can have a treat now?” she asked.

Her dad gave her a sidelong glance. “We haven’t even had dinner yet; you’re going to ruin your appetite,” he protested.

Annabelle pulled the puppy dog eyes once more. Her father looked away. “Oh no,” he began. “You’re not getting me with that one again. No siree.”

Annabelle leapt to her feet, sending up a swirl of snow as she did so. “Just a little something, please? I promise I’ll still eat all my dinner too.” She clasped her hands together and stuck out her bottom lip. Her father rose to his knees to meet her.

“You promise?” he asked, his voice light.

“Pinkie promise!” she declared, sticking out a small, gloved finger. 

“Oh you know I can’t do that with these,” her father joked, holding up his mittened hands. “If we hurry, we can make the next bus into the city.” He grabbed her hand, and Annabelle pretended to hoist him off the ground. Hand in hand, Annabelle practically skipped to the bus stop with her father at her side.

The bus sputtered and moved slowly in the slushy streets. The windows were dingy but Annabelle was still able to breathe her hot breath on the surface and draw a smiley face. Her father grinned to himself. The bus reached their desired stop, and Annabelle stepped off and onto the sidewalk.

Samuel was holding himself in a hug to keep the shivers at bay when he saw Annabelle and her father step off the bus. Samuel had lost custody of his daughter shortly after he became homeless. Her mother wouldn’t have been able to let him see her again even if she wanted to; Samuel essentially disappeared from both of their lives. His heart ached at the thought.

Samuel saw that the girl was cheery, bubbly even. He envied her happiness and wished he could go home to a warm bed like she no doubt would do. He must have been staring at her for a while because the girl caught his gaze and shrank close to her father’s side. Samuel filled with shame and bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut. As he waited for the father and daughter to be on their way, he was startled when a hand gently touched his shoulder. He looked up, frightened; it was the father.

“Excuse me, sir?” the father was asking him.

Samuel glanced him up and down, noting the young girl gripping his hand tightly. “Yeah?” he asked impatiently. “Whatcha want?”

“My daughter here wanted to ask you something,” the father said.

Samuel’s eyes grew wide. The girl? He glanced down at her and relaxed his muscles a bit, bringing his arms down to his side. 

“Umm,” Annabelle began, clearly shy, “We’re going to get doughnuts.” She pointed to a Tim Horton’s just down the street. “I was wondering,” she said, her gaze now at her boots, “if you want to come too.”

Samuel could feel his entire heart melting. The father grinned sheepishly, obviously not expecting what was happening to be happening. Annabelle looked into Samuel’s face hopefully. Samuel could not help but curl his lips into a smile. “I’d love to, dear,” he replied. 

What reservations either of them had were lifted when that bubbly girl bounded away from the bus stop and towards the coffee shop. 

“Hey now, don’t get too far ahead,” her father called after her. He turned to Samuel. “Nice to meet you; that’s my daughter Annabelle. She said she just had to ask you to come along.” He stuck out a hand.

Samuel shook it gratefully. “Well, sir, your girl is mighty kind. The name’s Samuel.” He smiled brightly, the first genuine smile he could remember having in a long time. “It’s good to meet the two of you.”

Annabelle held the door open for the two men while they made their way towards her. “Hurry up!” she called. “The snow’s getting in!”

The snow fell and the wind whirred, the inches piling every second. When the trio entered the warm glow of the Tim Horton’s, the brutality of winter was left behind them.

“Any one you like,” Annabelle’s father told her, tapping the glass display case.

“Chocolate glaze, please,” she politely instructed the cashier. 

“Samuel?” he inquired next.

Samuel graciously nodded at Annabelle’s father. “I’ll have a large, regular coffee, please. Black.”

“Make that two,” the father added. 

As Samuel took the steaming drink to a small booth in the dining area, he admired the happy relationship he observed between father and daughter. He could feel his hands thawing, his face tingling, and his heart warming. As the two men sipped their coffee and Annabelle munched on her doughnut, Samuel peeked the snowstorm raging outside, but decided that the snow wasn’t so bad after all.