Promises Kept

“Absolutely beautiful!”

“What’s that, hon?” Chris asked from beneath the covers

“The snow, dear. The first snowfall of the season is always the most beautiful. I think it was J.B. Priestly who said, ‘The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different.’”

Chris rolled down the covers and got out of bed. He walked over to the window where Gertrude was standing. He slid the wooden slats of the indoor shutters further apart and looked outside. Inexplicably, Gertrude was right. It was snowing, quite hard, in fact. He could barely see the street at the end of their driveway. Powdery snow, the kind in frigid temperatures that descended to the ground in a multitude of small snowflakes, now covered the lawn and bushes in front of the house. There was even a bit of frost coating the window pane.

Gertrude joined him at the window, marveling at the winter landscape beyond the glass. “Just beautiful,” she said again. “I think I’ll get my camera and go outside to take some photos. The kids would love to see this.”

Chris scratched his beard and stared out the window, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Gertrude asked.

Chris turned to her, a puzzled expression on his face. “Doesn’t any of this strike you as strange? You do realize that it doesn’t snow in Orlando. We’ve been here twenty years since I hung up my reins and retired, and we haven’t had as much as a flurry. There must be a half-foot of snow out there, and all you’ve noticed is how pretty it is on our palm trees, palmetto plants, and the rest of our landscaping. It was 80 degrees yesterday, and we’re waking up to a winter wonderland today. Isn’t that a bit crazy or just plain impossible?”

Gertrude shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so, but I don’t care. It is very pretty, and I think our kids and grandkids will get a kick out of seeing all this snow in Florida, so I’m going to bundle up in my one winter jacket and go outside and take some pictures. Who knows when I’ll need to use my coat again?”

Chris walked over to the bed table and picked up the television remote. He flicked it on and quickly navigated to the local weather channel.  

On the screen, the weather presenter was dressed in a parka, standing in front of a map of Orlando with various areas marked with predicted snowfall levels. “Well, it looks like today will be a cold one with a low of 28 degrees and 8-12 inches of snow in store for us. Heavier accumulation is expected north of I-4. It should warm back up tomorrow with a high of 82 degrees, so if you plan on building a snowman today, don’t expect a long-term relationship.” He laughed as an image of a melting snowman in a top hat replaced the map of Orlando behind him.

“I don’t get it, Gertrude. He’s reporting as if it’s just another day in Orlando. No explanations for the drop in temperature or the snow. Just a cold day today, followed by a warming trend. He doesn’t even call it an unusually cold day. Just cold. This is nuts.”

“Oh, Chris, what’s the problem? Why don’t you find your sweatshirt and come out in the snow with me? You might have some fun.”  With that, Gertrude raced out of the bedroom to grab her coat from the living room closet.

“I knew it,” Chris said to the empty bedroom. “Global cooling. It was all they talked about in the 1960s and 1970s. All the aerosols covering the globe, blocking out sunlight and cooling the planet. Where’s global warming when it’s 28 degrees in Orlando in November?”

Chris went to the closet and shuffled through his pants on the rack until he found a pair of jeans. He put them on and grabbed a polo shirt and his UCF Knights sweatshirt. He also removed a pair of heavy cotton socks and sneakers from the closet.  

Damn, he thought, I don’t have any boots anymore. Didn’t need them here. It’s cold out there, and my feet will get wet. It doesn’t snow in Orlando. This is why we moved down here. I’m dressing to go out in the snow, and I HATE SNOW. We moved to get away from the snow; I haven’t missed it one day. Now, I’m getting ready to go out and “have fun” in the snow at 75. If I break a hip today, I won’t be a happy camper!

Chris walked over to the window. He peered outside and saw Gertrude trying to roll a snowball, probably hoping to build that short-lived snowman that the weatherman had joked about. Try as she might, the powdery snow wouldn’t compact and form a ball, a fact Gertrude quickly discerned. Now, she was back to taking photos focusing on the snow-laden palms. Around the neighborhood, he saw others beginning to emerge from their Florida ranch homes to frolic in the snow.

Why would anyone frolic in the snow? For that matter, why would I even think of the word frolic? We’re all down here because we want to be away from the snow. What are these people thinking?

Chris left the bedroom, walked through the living room and kitchen, and went to the garage. Pushing the garage door opener, he waited as the heavy door rose.  He was happy that the door wasn’t frozen in place like it often was back far up north during the winter.

As he walked to the opening, he was surprised to see a woman in his driveway shoveling the snow. She was dressed in a skier’s jumpsuit, her head covered with an Orlando Magic baseball cap, and her ponytail hanging out the back.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Why, Mister Klaus, don’t you remember me? I’m Debbie, your real estate agent. I sold you this house about twenty years ago.”

She had turned to face him, and he now recognized her. She had shown over a dozen houses to Gertrude and him over the course of a week many years ago.

“Don’t you recall that when I sold you the house, I promised you that if it ever snowed, I’d shovel your driveway and walkway for you?”

“I thought that was a joke,” Chris said. “It never snows in Orlando.”

“Doesn’t matter, Mister Klaus. Promises made; promises kept.” She continued to clear the driveway.