Wintering

As it fell, so perfectly into place, Abigail began to smile. Everyone else in the office was grumbling about it, the horrified expectation of the first snowfall would cause nothing but chaos to them. These grown-ups who have lost their sense of wonder, even though most had children of their own, saw it as a good excuse to leave work and head home early, nothing more. Abigail could hear them gather at their cubicles and in the staff lounge, making plans to escape, making arrangements to pick up kids from school, pick up their kids’ friends as well, being the good parent among parents. But Abigail just wanted to enjoy it. She had moved away in her twenties, out west to Seattle where snow was a rare sight unless you drove towards the mountains for a day of skiing. But when she made the decision to move back east, to Rochester of all places but it’s home, she patiently awaited the first snowfall with contained excitement.

A full winter without rain would be ideal, she thought. Too many days in December spent with an umbrella, trudging through puddles just to get to a friend’s house for dinner. Or worse, dealing with slush, a word even more unpalatable than moist. Sometimes there were days when it tried to snow, but it never stayed long enough to become that wonderland the season reminds us of. Instead it all became grey, slippery, mounds of gush before the day was done. But that was all in the past, and presently, as if she had been transported back to her childhood home, in her living room gazing out the window, Abigail couldn’t take her eyes off the gentle snowflakes falling from the sky. How she had missed the cold air, brisk and sharp, something few people enjoyed, and she was one of them. But what she loved the most was the silence a snowfall brought to the world, a calmness that only a winter blanket can bring.

Then it dawned on her. It was almost one of those lightbulb moments. As if it were a string of Christmas lights which never worked, because only one blub was burnt out so the rest never turned on. Not a lightbulb as in an idea, but more like when you finally figure something out, something that makes so much obvious sense you’re almost embarrassed to admit it out loud; the moment right after checking every single light, and you finally reach the end of that tangled string to find the burnt-out bulb you need to replace. That’s the lightbulb, that’s a blanket of snow. A duvet or quilt; this quiet covering of land. A security blanket that can’t be trespassed upon without the rest of the world knowing, seeing the imprints of feet from all walks of life; nothing can go undetected, unless you’re hidden underneath. She hoped there would be enough snow to cover the ground, to make sure the world stayed quiet and safe, at least in Rochester (of all places).

Easily as a kid, Abigail would just accept the phrase as is because the land is so vast, how else would you describe snow on the ground? A layer is more for a cake. Possibly a covering works, but that might be better suited for a piece of machinery. A blanket is made to comfort and protect. So as a kid, she never really thought about the silence that comes with it, being wrapped up and tucked away, because as a kid snow usually means play. Noise, laughter and screaming, with the building of forts and throwing of snowballs. Especially when it came to time off school for holidays. What havoc they would cause. A significant reminder for Abigail; how glad she was to not have kids of her own and had a bit more sympathy for her co-workers trying to navigate the storm picking up outside.

A glance to her phone showed the time. Shit, it’s almost half past four. She had lost track, figuring she had only let her mind wander and reminisce in nostalgia for a minute, when in fact it had been closer to twenty. The snow had blanketed her mind as well, as she still had a report to edit and turn in before she left for the day. Plus, with another look outside, she could see how the gentleness of falling snow was now gusts of wind, tumbling patches, blistering sheets against her fellow employees faces in the car park. Her eyes searched for her car, finally able to catch a glimpse of the canary red finish on her used station wagon amidst a couple small snowbanks, steadily growing. Tires. She remembered, no snow tires. Her appointment with the auto mechanic had to be rescheduled to next week, because Mac suddenly decided to go visit his cousin on Long Island. I hope he’s snowed in, the twerp, she secretly thought. But then wondered who else could she go to for snow tires right after a big storm.

A panic set in over Abigail, the type of panic that comes from adult responsibilities being neglected. Her childhood love for snow was put on pause, as Abigail quickly gathered her things to work from home; the final edit will be late but at least she won’t be snowed in for the night at the office. The snow was piling up higher and faster, looking outside her office window the car park slowly emptied, Abigail wondered if she might actually be stuck. As she managed with her coat and bag for the night, she realised with everyone else already gone, her car could be buried, and no one would be left to help dig her out. If only a group of youngsters could swoop in and start building snow people (how PC) or maybe a snow plow would magically appear. Wishful thinking indeed, that kind of stuff only happens in sappy movies made for television. Abigail reminded herself, this was not a whimsical fantasy story.

As she entered the lobby, the last few workers from the other floors briskly exited the premises, wrapped up in as many layers of clothing they could muster it seemed, and not too bad of a job either, considering they were also presumably inside their offices all day. As she saw them leave for the day, she also noticed the winds had calmed, but the snow was now once again landing softly. Thick clumps, but as light as feathers. When Abigail stepped outside, the fresh crunch with each step echoed in the all too dark afternoon. A brief moment of glee took over her, until she spotted her car. It was almost completely covered. The fact that it was a station wagon was the only clue remaining. She even did a double take, was this really her car? It looked almost as if everyone tossed the snow that had piled around their own cars onto hers. She figured it would take at least an hour for her to clear the snow away by herself. Pulling down the edge of her sleeve to cover her hand, no gloves to protect her tonight, Abigail used her coat to brush off the windshield and the driver side door window. An attempt at the door handle proved successful, thankful that it wasn’t frozen shut already. Abigail placed her bag inside, retrieved the snow brush from the back seat, and got to work on the rest of her red canary wagon. As she steadily uncovered the car from its own little blanket, she could hear children in the distance, already laughing and screaming with delight at the snow piled up high. An attempt to enjoy the fresh snow before it got too dark out, or perhaps a time for fun and games before dinner, she guessed. But one thing was certain, no more quiet, she thought to herself. Until they moved on, the joy and excitement of that small group of children had faded away. Left alone to rescue her ride home, Abigail took notice of the silence again with the snow drifting down to finish the job, to make sure each snowflake perfectly stitched together this first of many frozen blankets. As the snowfall made its first attempt to safely hide the world away for the wintering months, Abigail once again, began to smile.