Early Snow

The snow came earlier than expected. 

I sat at my window and stared at the grass behind the glass. The weathermen all predicted the first snow of the season this morning. I hoped they were wrong, that today’s heavy clouds would stay sleeping, or if they had to do something, then let them rain.

A speck of white floated in front of the window. 

My chest curled into a ball. 

More snow floated to the earth. It hit the grass and stuck, as all the weathermen predicted. By the end of the day, a thick layer of snow and ice would freeze the world over. I’d hear children coming out to ball up the snow in their mittens, and see couples navigating the icy sidewalks together. I would be packing my bags. 

At that moment I was all too aware that I should have chosen a different deadline. I should have picked a day on the calendar or set an allotment of time, but I was a romantic, so I decided on the first snow of the season. 

Four months had passed since I last saw or heard from Alisa. We met a year before that, and filled our time with smiles and laughter. Alisa could warm me up with just the sound of her voice. She could turn a bad day into a good one with a single joke. I know it’s cliché, but she really did complete me. But something changed on August eighth. 

Alisa and I were living together by that time. She was groggy that morning, as usual, but she stayed upbeat about the work day ahead. We sat inches apart at my little kitchen table and talked about work. She was going to finish an art piece for a client. She told me it would take her a while, and that she probably wouldn’t leave the apartment that day. I told her about the mountain of work I’d have to sift through with some of my least favorite coworkers. She told me that I should get a broom to drive those coworkers away, and we shared a laugh. I kissed her goodbye, and that was the last time I saw her. 

I tried everything I could to find her–I called her friends and family, and even talked to the police. Everyone who knew Alisa wouldn’t give me an answer. The police confirmed that she hadn’t been kidnapped, that she’d simply run away. I replayed those last wonderful weeks with Alisa again and again, trying to figure out what went wrong, but I couldn’t figure anything out. I trudged on with my life as if Alisa was still with me. Then I made a promise to myself–if she didn’t come back by the time the first snow fell, I would pack my things and leave town. 

I stepped away from the window and started packing a bag. I had a job offer from out of the city, so that’s where I’d go. I could have called the company while I was packing, but I would save that call for tomorrow. One day wouldn’t make a difference. Besides, something could convince me to stay in town today. I hoped something would convince me to stay. 

I finished pushing clothes into a duffle bag, then zipped it up. One thing dealt with out of a million. I took a seat and stared at my half-full closet. I’d spent forty minutes packing, and I wasn’t even finished with a closet. It would be so much easier to stay right where I was. I hadn’t told anyone else about my promise; if I broke it, there was no harm. Except I’d be betraying myself. 

I couldn’t convince myself to continue packing today, so I bundled myself up in a heavy jacket, a scarf, and some gloves before leaving my apartment. A thin layer of snow softened the angles on the world. Kids laughed from somewhere around the block. 

I stuck my hands in my pockets and walked. I didn’t have a real destination in mind, but I’d head for the road enclosed by strip malls and fast food restaurants. It wasn’t the prettiest walk, but it was the walk Alisa and I went on every Saturday. I could imagine her at my side right now. The ghost of my girlfriend noticed me staring, and smiled. I smiled back.

Alisa and I held an imaginary conversation as we walked along the strip mall. Most of the stores were familiar installations that I’d pass every week and not give a second look. Most of the windows were dark. It was too early to open up, and with the roads hours away from turning to ice, I doubted the stores would open at all. Alisa pointed out a new sign above a new shop in the strip mall. The lights were on. I wasn’t too curious, but the imaginary Alisa at my side pulled me along. 

When I glanced into the shop window, Alisa’s ghost gasped. The store was lined with paintings and vases. I stopped, and took a better look. The paintings were abstract–at least that’s what I thought. Alisa–the real Alisa–could have told me about the nuances in the style that made it separate from abstract art, but I couldn’t do that on my own.

Alisa’s ghost insisted that we step inside and get a closer look. I reminded her that we were only here for a short walk, but I agreed to look through the window for a few more seconds. That’s when I saw someone moving through the shop. The owner was a young woman with short cropped hair dyed red. I wouldn’t have recognized her if it wasn’t for her determined expression. Alisa was in the store. 

Two images of Alisa fought in my brain. There was the Alisa I knew–the one with long black hair, the one who always dressed up in beautiful clothes, even when she wasn’t going to step outside that day. Now I have another Alisa–one with the cropped and dyed head. And this Alisa was real. She was flesh and blood in front of me. 

She glided around the store, straightening picture frames as she went.

All these months and Alisa had been right around the corner this entire time. My emotions mixed together in my belly and created some feeling I couldn’t recognize.

I should have kept walking. If Alisa hadn’t contacted me in all this time, then she didn’t want to talk. But I did. I moved to the door, and grabbed the handle. I pulled, expecting the lock to stop me, but the door opened with a chime. 

Alisa glanced over her shoulder. She spun around, and stood with rigid posture. Her mouth was opened to a slit, but nothing came out. 

I could have said a lot of things to Alisa at that moment, a lot of acidic words to hurt her for what she’d done. I decided to say,

“Been a while.” 

“Yeah,” Alisa answered.

Four months. After four months we couldn’t exchange a few sentences. It was hard to look directly at Alisa, to see how she’d changed, so I looked to a painting on the wall. 

“This is all yours,” I said. 

“Yep,” Alisa said. “I’d love to stay and catch up, but I was just doing a check-up. I’m done now, leaving soon.” 

“Oh, sorry.” 

Alisa straightened a frame she’d already straightened. 

“How’d you come to this?” I asked. 

“Loan from the bank.” 

“Is business good?” 

Alisa shrugged. 

“I’ll probably have to shut down and keep my work online,” she said. 

“Yeah, new businesses are tough.”

Alisa took a sharp breath. She pulled a set of keys from her pocket. She was concluding the conversation before it even started. 

“There’s one thing I gotta ask,” I said. 

Alisa shrank back as if I had pulled my fist back, ready to swing. 

“Why’d you do it?” I asked. 

Alisa turned her gaze to the floor. 

“What would you have said if I planned to open a shop like this?” She asked. “You would have told me it would fail. That I should just stick to what was working, to live every day the exact same. I can’t do that; I can’t stagnate like that. I had to leave.” 

My lungs filled with oil. I wanted to argue, to tell Alisa I would have supported her if she’d told me her plan, but she was right. I would have told her to stick with her online business instead of putting up a store. We would have lived the same days and weeks over and over without change. Was that really such a bad thing, though? 

“I’m sorry,” Alisa whispered. 

Silence filled the room. I heard Alisa breaths coming jagged, the way they did when she was close to tears. The world sharpened into focus. I could see dust motes.

“I’m leaving town soon,” I said. “I got a job offer out of here I’m gonna take it.” 

My words hung in the air for a few seconds, giving both Alisa and me time to process what I’d said. I knew that with the words out, I couldn’t turn back. When I got back home, I’d take that new job. I’d finish packing my things and focus on whatever new life I would plunge into. 

Alisa looked up from the floor, and looked me in the eyes. 

“Good luck to you,” she said. 

“Same to you. Goodbye, Alisa.”