Snow on Evergreen Way

Snow on Evergreen Way        

Sara sat in the reading chair by the window and watched as the large white clumps of snow began to fall. It was late this year, the day after Thanksgiving, the refrigerator bulging with curdling gravy, green beans, turkey, and pie. She remembered last year; the city had seen at least two snowfalls long before the holiday.

           Greg placed her cup of black coffee on the side table. He grabbed her left hand and kissed the ring he’d placed on it just a few months before. The quiet of the morning eased them, even with the incessant ping coming from his work computer. He grabbed his own mug, this one with extra creamer, and returned to his desk. Sara tried not to think about her current employment status and picked up her copy of Little Women from the table. She pulled Greg’s flannel more tightly around her and listened to her brother, John, shuffle into the shower.

           The snow was falling heavily now. After some time, Sara paused, reheated her coffee, and watched the last bits of grass vanish under the snow. The backyard did not stretch far from the concrete patio, and the naked trees revealed the neighboring street behind John’s duplex. The snow just barely obscured the squat ranch house that sat staring back at her, its door cloaked in a decorative swag of holly and red bows. Somewhere behind the closed curtains, different people and different things took up a space they used to call their own. John had started his lease here soon after Greg had bought the house: a convenience that now carried with it sorrow beyond tears. Sara turned away.

           A couple of hours later, Greg joined her in the kitchen. His empty mug clinked in the sink.

“I hate that I can see it,” she muttered.

           Greg stood at the microwave awaiting his lunch of leftovers. He followed her gaze out the kitchen window.

           “I know.”

           The silence that followed was full of words already spoken and understood. They’d talked through it a million times: she had an amazing opportunity at FSU’s PhD program and he had a job that allowed him to follow her anywhere. It’s just a house, he’d assured her time and time again. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead then on the lips, then took his turkey and potatoes back to the office. Sara moved his mug into the dishwasher and grabbed her tablet from its charging station. Most of the emails shouted out Black Friday deals from old retail subscriptions. She waded through and cleaned out the junk, searching for anything important. Wait, something from FSU: another Canvas demo class. Delete. Inbox empty.

           “Morning,” John yawned on his way to the kitchen as he pulled on a sweater. “D’you eat breakfast?”

           “I was going to grab some leftovers in a minute.”

           John glanced at the clock. “Oh. Good afternoon, then.”

           Sara shrugged. The light outside hadn’t risen at all. A timeless gloom had buried the day from the start. John brewed coffee for his tumbler and chowed down on a bowl of cereal.

           “What’s the status on Florida?”

           “I’m still waiting for an email from the apartment complex. Another day and I’ll start nagging them.”

           John nodded and chewed. “When do classes start?”

           “Not until mid-January. We have time.”

           “It’ll be a lot greener than this.”

           Sara nodded. “Warmer.”

           John clinked his bowl into the sink and grabbed his tumbler. “I get off after close, so do whatever you guys wanna do for dinner.” He snagged his keys and left for the liquor store he owned five minutes down the road. Sara put his cereal bowl in the dishwasher and ate her lunch, scrolling on her phone and listening to Greg jump on and off phone calls. She looked at the old house and shook her head. Switching on the lamp, she closed the curtain and opened her book. Hours passed swiftly.

The next day was windy. Sheets of loose snowfall hissed across the surface of packed snow and ice. Clouds hurried along, expanding and colliding. Occasionally a pale sunlight would highlight the now white-capped houses. Twenty minutes away, the city braced against the relentless chill sweeping up from the lake and over the surrounding suburbs. Sara and Greg lay in bed late into the morning, enjoying dozy words and one another’s warmth. Greg eventually rolled himself to his feet and began slipping into joggers.

           “You’re going to freeze to death.”

           “I have earmuffs.”

           “Indestructible.”

           “Aren’t you coming?”

           She hummed and burrowed herself more deeply into the covers. He knew she hated running and grinned, grabbing at her legs from under the comforter. They tumbled and laughed and then shushed, remembering John, most likely still snoring in the next room.

           “I’ll at least go for a walk, how’s that.”

           Greg huffed facetiously. “Fine. I have some podcasts to catch up on anyway.”

           The main street had been cleared, so Sara followed Greg up to where he could run safely, and he started off. The wind surged against Sara’s cheeks and nose as she moved forward, trying to focus on the muscles in her legs and not the freezing cold. She gritted her teeth and watched as Greg grew smaller and smaller ahead of her. Cars flew by on the right, whipping her hair and slushing the new-fallen snow into the curb. She thought about turning back. None of this felt worth it. She looked up from her feet and saw the next street sign shivering in the wind: Evergreen Way. She kept walking.

Their old house drew her forward, though she wouldn’t admit it. Just as she wouldn’t admit how much she feared walking toward that abandoned warehouse several yards from her school. Friends she couldn’t quite name now had gone searching for a thrill outside a school dance. A coin toss decided who would venture into the old factory. Sara had watched her coin land on tails and shivered up at her doom. The pitch-black windows and smeared brick walls threatened any sense of warmth and safety. She’d barely made it three inches over the main threshold when a thundering crash scattered her and her friends in a wild frenzy. When someone realized the noise only came from some dumpster-diving raccoons, everyone ran off laughing back into the neon-tattooed gym.

Sara looked up as the sun flickered its way in and out of cloud cover. Their old house looked back at her. Later she would realize her watch had stopped, battery dead. Glimpses of vivid moments kaleidoscoped their way across her vision. She saw Greg in his boxers, frantically pulling the trash can down the drive at the last second; she watched the light from above the dining table land softly on the front porch; she relived their dance parties and movie nights in the den; she felt the cool comfort of the basement floor as she tossed in the last load of laundry. Moment after moment flashed and reeled around her. She stumbled slightly. A gust of wind pushed her hard and suddenly the windows were once again dark, doors locked, everyone gone and at work, the house sitting, waiting, staring back at her.

One of the neighbors had braved the weather to walk their dogs, and she nodded awkwardly at them as they passed. Glancing once more at the house, Sara shook her head, shivered, and turned back to where she came.