Snow and Time

Snow and Time

The day was bright and sunny, even if snow covered the ground up to my ankles.

           I was out shoveling, trying to clear a path on the sidewalk, bundled up to my neck to keep warm. It only took about half an hour before the coat came off. Glistening beads of sweat had begun to appear. The gems became salty rivers, running down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I could see the intersection of the sidewalk and the street, with only four feet more to get to the street. Exercise of any type, even when necessary, is abhorrent, don’t you agree? With wheezing breath and sweaty face, it was time to take a break.

           A shadow loomed overhead as my stooped frame slowly righted itself after leaving the shovel on the ground. The shadow took shape—a man all dim and sinister in front with the sun from behind, blotting out all detail.

           The shadow spoke, “What are you doing? I told you to wait. I’d do the sidewalk later.”

           The voice cracked familiar, but it didn’t match with the shape still towering over me.

           “Do I know you, sir?” The response sounded halting through my pants for breath. Moving a little north to get the sun out of my eyes, I didn’t get far before the shock of what I saw sent me south into the snowbank made just moments ago.

           Teeth rattled as I shook my head, no change, the figure remained. This cannot be. I’m must be seeing things.

           The shadow stepped toward me off the street onto the snow-covered sidewalk, hand outstretched offering help.

           “Don’t touch me. Who are you? Why are you here?” Was all I could utter, more sweat rant down my back and face from pure panic.

           This could not be. Charles had been gone over five years. Yet, the man in front of me, offering his hand, looked exactly like my dead husband.

           The voice again, familiar but strange. “Did you stumble? Let me help. I told you not you do this alone. You are so stubborn,” as if no time had passed, and we had shared coffee that morning.

           Futile to try backing over the snowbank, instead, I said, “Look, I don’t know who you are. What do you want?”

           The response ignored the question and was, frankly, ridiculous, “Did you hit your head or something? Why are you acting like this? We better get you into the house.”

           “I’m not going anywhere with you. You are not my Charles, and I simply refuse to acknowledge your existence. That’s all.” I turned to walk up the short path I had just made. He scrambled spritely over the snow and took me by the arm.

           Turning to face this evil, “Now I know you’re not Charles. He couldn’t move that quickly at his age.”

           “What are you talking about? Mother? It’s your son, James, don’t you know me, really?”

           Horrified, this man would claim to be my son. I had no son. Charles and I never had children. It was the one regret in our long marriage, childless.

           “Look, young man. I’m going to call the police if you don’t get off my property. Right! Now!” The startled look on his face was exactly the reaction I had hoped for. He was afraid of the police. He was a criminal trying to get into my home. He might even want to do me harm.

           “Mother, please. It’s me, James. What’s wrong? Have you had a stroke?”

           The next thing I knew, my neighbor, Janice Wilson, was patting the back of my hand, telling me not to sit up too quickly. Looking around, I noticed I was in my living room, fully clothed in outdoor gear and sweating like a stuck pig.

           “Janice, what’s going on? Why am I on my sofa, fully dressed? Oh. Hello, James. When did you get here?”

           Confused looks were the only answer I received. Then both started talking at once.

           “Mother, don’t you….” “Ellie, you were…” Mother…” “Ellie…”

           “Stop, both of you. I can only hear or understand one of you at a time. James, you go first.”

           “Before I tell you anything, mother, I need you to tell me what you remember.”

           “Well, I was…I…was. Now, give me a minute. Let’s see. I was making coffee. Your father had left for work. No, no. That’s not right. If that doesn’t beat all. I can’t remember what I was doing, exactly. Why? Is it important, James?”

           “Yes, mother, it is. I found you outside. You took one look at me and, I guess, you fainted or something. You didn’t seem to know who I was. In fact, you thought I was dad.”

           The look on my son’s face was one of sadness, profound sadness. But I didn’t know why. His father would be back… Oh. Now I know. Charles won’t be home, will he?

           “Oh, dear. I must have gotten overheated while shoveling. I’m sure that’s all it was. Don’t you? I just got confused for a second. Don’t you think?”

           “So, you do know I’m your son, James. And that dad is dead, right, mom?”

           “Yes, dear. I know you’re my son, James. And your dad won’t be home.” Now the profound sadness was my own. Tears began to fall. How strange, they taste just like the sweat. Never realized that before.

#

Several days passed, not sure how many. Time doesn’t mean much to me nowadays. The snow has already begun to melt. I guess I could have waited to do the shoveling with the days getting warmer now.

There have only been a few instances of memory lapse. I forgot to turn off the burner one morning after I had made the coffee. But the smoke alarm when off, so no harm done. Then I put my purse in the refrigerator before lunch. After James helped me look for about an hour, we had a good laugh at my silliness.

           James asked Janice to come over every day to check on me. I don’t know why. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Everyone has a memory lapse or two at my age. What is my age, anyway? I must be getting on to eighty. Where did Charles go? It’s getting close to his nap-time. He always takes a nap around two o’clock. He says it helps him feel refreshed—a little cat nap, as he calls it.

           “Charles, Charles. Are you upstairs? I think it’s time for you…”

#

Ellie paced the living room, wringing her hands, turning this way and that. This had now become a habit. A pattern James had decided was comforting to his mother, if not to him.

           “Now what was I saying. I guess I better go to the kitchen and make my lunch. It’s no fun eating alone since Charles died.”

           As she went into the kitchen, Ellie was surprised to find Janice, her neighbor, at the sink doing the dishes.

           “Oh, you’re not Janice. Who are you? I don’t remember. I must be getting old, dear.”

           James sent a sweet smile toward his mother. The last few months have been horrible and nostalgic at the same time. How quickly your world can turn into a nightmare for you when it hasn’t changed for her. A tear ran down his cheek as he turned back to the sink full of dirty dishes.

           “Just have a seat, mom. I’ll get some lunch as soon as I’ve finished here.”

           “Well, aren’t you a nice young man, to call me mom. My husband, Charles, and I never had any children. It sounds lovely to be called mom. So sweet.”

THE END