Plastic Runners

Mark leaned against the windowsill and looked out at the snow. 

“Remember when we used to like the snow?” he asked, thinking about how he was going to have to shovel the driveway, and half turning around to look at Sara, who was knitting in the cushioned rocking chair. 

“I remember,” she said, smiling with only her eyes, “but what I remember is that you liked the snow, and I spent a lot of cold afternoons with snow down my coat wondering why anyone had invented sledding, or skiing, or snowball fights, or anything else except ways to get out of the snow, and wondering why I was so damn desperate to spend time with someone who had any interest in such ridiculous activities.”

“You liked sledding,” Mark said, “I know you did,” he sounded uncertain. 

“I know, Mark,” Sara laughed, a real, but reassuring, laugh. “I know.”

“I wish we could go sledding now,” Mark said, “I miss sledding.”

“Why can’t we?” Sara said, meaning, It is a lovely thing to imagine. 

Mark didn’t answer. He thought Sara had meant, Let’s imagine for a little bit that we could, which was almost true. 

“Want to play cards,” Mark asked, “it’s a good afternoon for cards.” He meant, Would you do something with me so that I feel less guilty not going out and shoveling the driveway?

Sara didn’t understand why Mark wanted to play. It was always Mark's job to shovel the driveway and Sara wasn’t even thinking about the fact that it needed to be done. They had made that deal 25 years ago, when Mark convinced Sara that they should move from California to New-England. If Mark wanted snow, Mark had to be the one to deal with snow. Neither of them really remembered the agreement, they just knew that it was Mark’s job to shovel, and neither of them questioned it. 

“I’m almost done with this sweater,” Sara said, in response to Mark’s question about cards, which was true, but not what she meant. She meant, I can’t play cards without my hands-free, and I don’t want to put down my knitting right now, so, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to play cards right now. 

Mark understood. Even the, I’m sorry, part. 

“Oh,” Mark said, “that’s alright,” which was pretty much what he meant.

“You could work on the puzzle,” Sara said, which was also pretty much what she meant. She said it because she felt bad about not playing cards, and she thought she would feel less bad if Mark was happily doing something else. 

“Yeah, I guess I could,” Mark said, by which he meant, Thanks for the suggestion, I think I’ll do that, and crossed the room to the glass coffee table which Mark’s sister had given them five years ago when she moved, and which Mark and Sara called the puzzle table. 

Mark took seven minutes to fit three pieces of the puzzle into place. He picked up a fourth piece, but he put it down again. He couldn’t concentrate, or enjoy himself, when he knew he still had to deal with the driveway. 

“I guess I’d better go shovel the driveway,” Mark said, which is exactly what he meant, although he wished it wasn’t. 

“Remember to put a hat on,” Sara said, by which she meant, I love you.

“I will,” Mark said, by which he meant, I will remember to put a hat on. 

Sara finished knitting her sweater. She really had been very close to the end. Mark was still outside, but, when Sara looked out the window, she saw that he was nearly finished. 

Sara made hot-chocolate with milk and set two mugs of it on the kitchen table so that they could both have some as soon as Mark came in.  

The snow had started to fall again while Mark shoveled. It should have annoyed him that his work was being undone even as he did it, and it usually would have, but he was in a funny sort of mood and it didn’t. Instead, it made him think of catching snowflakes on his tongue, and building snowmen, and gliding down long white hills on plastic runners. When Mark came inside and found the hot-chocolate waiting for him, the warm, safe end to every snow-filled day from his childhood, he found himself nearly overwhelmed with a nameless nostalgia and love for the glittering white world, his cozy home, and Sara, who he could not imagine having a home without, not as in would not want to, although he would not have wanted to, but simply as in could not.

“Chocolate,” he said to Sara with a smile, by which he meant, I love you. 

“Yes,” Sara said, by which she meant, Come, let’s drink the chocolate you so aptly noticed before it gets cold. 

Sara and Mark sat in silence at their kitchen table and sipped the hot chocolate. What they both meant by the silence was, Thank you, although it wasn’t clear exactly what each one was thankful for. It would have made sense for Sara to mean, Thank you for shoveling, and for Mark to mean, Thank you for the hot-chocolate, but that was not precisely what either one was thankful for, although they were not ungrateful for those things. 

“I really do wish we could go sledding now,” Mark said. 

“Why couldn’t we?” Sara said, by which she meant, Oh, Mark, I understand your nostalgia, but you know why we can’t go sledding. 

Mark did not know why they could not go sledding. Sara did not, in actuality, know why they could not go sledding either. The truth was, there wasn’t a reason that they couldn’t go sledding if they wanted to. Nevertheless, Mark agreed with Sara that it was an impossible thing. 

“I finished my knitting, if you want to play cards now,” Sara said, after they had both considered the impossibility of sledding. 

“Sure,” Mark said, meaning, I’d love to. He had, until that moment, entirely forgotten that he had asked Sara to play cards with him, but he always liked to play cards. 

Sara got a worn pack of cards off of a shelf in the kitchen and Mark delt. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold in my life as I was the day we went sledding with Angela,” Sara said. She meant, I, too, remember fondly all of the hours we spent together in the snow, no matter how much I may have complained at the time. 

Mark laughed, “or tried to, anyway.” He meant, Do you remember how she made us tromp around in the snow for miles looking for the perfect hill even though we passed at least half a dozen that would have been more than fine.

“Yeah,” Sara chuckled. She meant, I do remember. 

They talked of other snowy days. Many of them shouldn’t technically have needed discussing, because Both Mark and Sara remembered them perfectly well, but it brought them pleasure to recount these familiar tales. Others were hazier memories, and it was only by talking through them that they were able to remember them at all. 

Mark made more hot chocolate for both of them. It tasted like childhood to him. To Sara, it tasted like the early days with Mark. 

Sara added mint extract to her hot chocolate, three drops, just how she liked it. She reached for Mark’s mug, but didn’t take it, by which she meant, Do you want mint?

Mark nodded, by which he meant, Yes. 

Mark took a sip of his minty hot chocolate. That, to him, was a Sara taste. A Sara taste from back when they used to do lots of wintery things to drink hot-chocolate at the end of. 

Sara laid down her final card and won the game. 

Mark smiled. Sara almost always won this game. She was better at it. Mark didn’t mind, it was a good game, and the end had never been the point of games to him. 

“I’d love to go sledding now,” Mark said, meaning just what he said.

“Why can’t we?” Sara said, meaning, I don’t suppose there really is any reason that we couldn't, is there?

“I du’know,” Mark said, meaning, I don’t suppose there is. 

“Why don’t I just go see if we still have a sled,” Sara said, by which she meant, well then, perhaps we should go sledding. 

In the garage and under a broken rake, two drop cloths, and three plastic bags filled with other plastic bags Sara found a blue plastic sled. 

Neither Sara nor Mark had proper snow clothes, but, from the moment they saw the sled, they both knew it was decided. What they did have was a park less than a three-minute drive away. 

On that day, it was a two minute and fifty-six-second drive. It would have been less without the snow. 

There were only a few other people in the park. 

“Must be the snow,” Mark said, meaning, People must not want to drive here in the snow, it would be a hard drive for anyone who lives more than two minutes and fifty-six-seconds away.

“Yeah,” Sara said, understanding him. 

They reached the top of the hill and Mark set the sled on the unbroken snow. 

Sara sat in the front of the sled and Mark sat behind her. He wasn’t steering, because it isn’t really possible to steer a plastic sled, but he was holding the rope. 

Down the sparkling white hill they went, together, on plastic runners.