London Snow

It was a brisk February evening and the streets sprinkled with a fresh layer of soft white snow. The lamps glowed a powerful orange and the sky had taken a hue between blue and purple.

The recent flurry had replaced the typical city staleness with a potent air, both fresh and pure. London had become something else entirely. Something magical. The streets were calmer, more controlled, and picturesque. The scene looked displaced, a sight not quite Victorian but not twenty-first century either. Here, its true beauty was on display, demanding to be admired.

In this moment, for twenty-four beautiful hours, the capital shunned aggressive hordes of traffic and bodies in favour of love, patience, and appreciation.

***

Somewhere in the city, on a bridge above the Thames; a man stood leaning, looking out across the river. He was young and though no-one learned his name, all who passed by noticed him, and appreciated his warm smile. Ony other day, in the typical hustle and bustle, thousands would have passed without even noticing his presence. This day was different though, it wasn’t just any other day.

To quote a famous poet, there was ‘no sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling’ and ‘the daily thoughts of labour and sorrow slumber’. This was London snow, and it was something else, and on this brisk February evening, the spirit of the old town agreed collectively; everything was perfect. So, the smile of that young man on the bridge was not just seen, but adored.

His sight was something to behold beyond just the grin that drew people in. He had hair meticulously parted at the side whilst slicked back with precision, a delicate pencil moustache and finally, an almost antique long, brown greatcoat brushing against his knees. As they passed, some saw a man reminiscent of loved ones and others saw someone desperate to stand out and escape conformity. However, there was no criticism, no cynicism whatsoever and no conspiracy theories or accusations. It was a good day, because in the London snow; on the bridge, between where they were, and where they wanted to be, everyone saw and appreciated a person who was altogether something different. After all, he was happy, and they loved him for that. A grin chained to eyes, bright with life. It was as fresh as the white powder itself.

No-one could be sure what inspired his joy as they passed on by. Many puzzled though. Most guessed the usual: true love, financial independence, an elusive dream job. Each and every thought and theory was telling though, a projection and glimpse into the bliss they craved. The mental ramblings of a dissatisfied group seeing the joy of another and placing their own dreams in place of missing context. A common enough occurrence and harmless done without intent or malice; but, altogether irrelevant and pointless.

Some would eventually come to know why he smiled so deeply, what was on his mind and what fuelled that contagious happiness on that bridge. They would discover the mystery of why the young man nodded and waved to each of them, consumed in a cocoon of his delight. Most, however, would not. To them, that man; leaning just a little too far over the railing, with his broad smile, would forever be a memory of that truly amazing day. They would recollect his lasting impression on that bridge. How he beamed and spread delight to everyone. Although rare that he left his railing, he did – sometimes. They would recall how he would help the elderly across slippery sections, briefly entertained young children and offer every passer-by, a greeting seemingly bespoke.

You’re such a kind man’

Wow, you’re really nice”

‘You’re just so happy’

‘How your parents must be proud’

These words and several like were offered. Sometimes for his deeds, usually for just being present. Occasionally, the things that were said were misguided, as words without understanding often are, but the intention of every compliment offered that snowy Tuesday evening was good. Regardless of delivery.

***

As the evening drew on and night-time set in, fewer people risked the bridge now; greetings with smiles were replaced by glances and steady shuffles to the other side. Still, he stood in defiance, soaking in the atmosphere with a warm smile and soft, welcoming eyes.

A nurse, only a little older than he, was the last to cross that day. She didn’t hurry and pass on though. She stopped.

‘Hey -’ the nurse greeted, and he turned to face her, smiling and nodding in recognition ‘– are you OK?’ she asked. He stood blankly for a while, as though mulling over the question.

‘I’m fine,’ he responded. ‘Thank you for asking.’ The man shared a grin that the nurse found reassuring and haunting at the same time. Somehow, she thought, there were lines that hinted at experience beyond his years like muscles well exercised to the point of perfect execution.

***

The next day, that perfect snow was gone. Rain set in and rather that the sprinkles of white powder, a slush accompanied by hard pockets of ice had formed throughout the city.

The sky was grey and the mood more so. Cars filled the roads again, flicking pieces of grit at the pedestrians struggling about their journey.

People slid and fell and swore, and the spirit of bliss from the day before was gone, though not completely forgotten.

The bridge that had brought happiness to so many the evening prior; didn’t have its guardian and source of joy. Instead, it was filled with people desperate to get from “point-a” to “point-b”.

A few who had crossed last night, wondered about that man, what he was up to. All the while, failing to notice the wailing sirens a few streets over. Where a grieving girlfriend had returned home from her night shift and unexpectedly found her partner hanging from the ceiling, dressed in his fanciest coat. If only they could hear what she kept repeating in her heartbroken sobs.

‘I don’t understand, he was always so happy.’