Calm and Still Tomorrow

Sophia 

I hug my knees into my chest, watching from the window seat of the townhouse as snow falls in its unhurried manner. Just a thin layer of glass creates a marked divide - my warm little pocket of the world kept separate from the squall outside. Trees line my street - spaced out every ten feet or so - and their leafless limbs begin to collect snow, like enormous skeletons donning capes. The elderly tree in front of my window seems especially regal. With my first-floor view, I am able to see straight up the trunk to the tangle of branches overhead. The sun is just setting, silhouetting the cityscape. 

Charlie isn’t home, and I don’t know when he’ll be back. He went out earlier without my noticing, which he does from time to time. He’s a free spirit, which I admire about him. He doesn’t have the need to justify anything he does, he just does it. I worry, still. It’s a big city, and the weather will only get worse as the night goes on. I hope he’ll make it back for dinner. 

A half hour later, as I’m watching the news, the TV cuts out. And the lamp, and the wifi router, and the clock above the stove. A power outage? I turn on my phone flashlight and head to the kitchen, fishing around the junk drawer until I find a lighter and light a few candles for the living room. A strange mix of lavender, pumpkin, and pine scents fill the room, and I am confused for a moment before I start to chuckle - when I bought the candles I did not imagine lighting them all at once. Something to remember when I’m candle shopping. 

There is a knock on my door. I hold one of the glass jar candles - the pumpkin one - in my hand, feeling a little ridiculous, and open the door to see my landlord standing outside with a Maglite. Cold air from the street washes over my bare feet. “Power should be back up in less than an hour, they’re fixing it now.” He says. “Thankfully, the storm hasn’t caused too much trouble around town. You stay warm, now.” I thank him for letting me know, and he moves on to tell the other neighbors. As I’m standing at the door, I look down on either end of the street for Charlie, but don’t see him. 

I go sit back at the window seat, with a candle, a book, and a blanket. I’m thinking again of the divide on either side of my window - warm and cold, candlelight and snow - and feel as if I’m in a backwards snowglobe. 

I settle down to read, and everything is wonderful.

Charlie

I dawdle my way down the city street. The daylight has just begun to dim, and the crowds begun to thin. The air is crisp - I can smell the snowflakes waiting to fall. I know I should be getting back home before it starts or Sophia will be worried about me, but I have always been partial to the feeling of freedom that comes with walking aimlessly in a city. Particularly now that the frigid weather and fading sun have driven most people off the streets. 

I can stay out a bit longer. 

I no sooner decide this than the first flake falls, then the second, third, and hundredth. They make lazy, soft circles down to settle on the sidewalk, and soon there are white accents on every stop sign, window ledge, and post office box. The air is cold, but I am warm, warm, warm with the feeling of contentment. Sounds start to become muffled by the piling snow. My own steps make gentle, pleasing crunches. I shuffle along. 

I think about getting something to eat, but Sophia will have something at home. She doesn’t like when I bring home food, anyway. We have different taste in takeout. She is an angel, my Sophia, with her impossibly good natured spirit and a voice, sweet like nectar. I don’t think she has ever said an unkind word to me. We seem to have settled into a comfortable routine, her and I. I can guess that when I come home we will eat and she will put on the TV. We’ll sit on the couch, or I will lay next to her with my head in her lap, and it will be perfect. Our little slice of heaven. 

I think of her as I make my way up to the park, to the bridge. 

From here, you can see the old city buildings, the spindly trees, and usually down to the water, though today it is just a smudge of dark blue behind white shavings. They are coming thicker and faster now, though my coat keeps me warm. There is the peculiar stillness that only comes when the city has been tucked in up to its ears by this down white comforter. Squirrels have nestled themselves away, and birds have all roosted. As my eyes wander over the winter wasteland, I feel as though I am the only person to exist in it. Somehow, it is mine. 

The cold creeps into my toes and my ears. I think again of dinner, of my head resting on Sophia’s thigh, and head for home. 

Sophia

The lights flicker back on, and I look up from my book. The voice of a news reporter grabs my attention as the TV comes back on. “...snow is expected to continue to fall into the early morning, and schools are announcing delays and cancellations. We’ll be back in a just a little bit with that listing.”

I squint out the window - it’s about 7:30 now, but feels much later - and I see movement in the distance. I already know it’s Charlie, I can tell by his walk, but seconds later I can make out his orange coat. It’s him for sure. 

I jump up, finally at ease that he is back. I was more worried than I would have liked to admit. I open the door as he comes to the stoop, a dusting of snow on top of his head. “Hey, there you are!” I say. I crouch down and brush the snow off his ears. “Where you been, little guy?” Charlie merely purrs in response, rubbing against my leg before slipping past me into the house.   

I make dinner for myself, and Charlie naps by the heating grate. The city sleeps. Soon, the roads will be cleared, and life will start to pick up as it was, but for now, with the city mantled in fluff, we can enjoy the calm and still tomorrow.