Mother Snow

Jenny is awake… but she doesn’t want to be.

Her eyes scan the murky world beneath her eyelids. She imagines the sun reaching to her with microscopic Mickey Mouse hands; the white gloves grabbing fistfuls of her lashes as if attempting to pry them open. Jenny’s eyes are usually the last to surrender to the concept of being awake. Besides, she likes the idea of seeing with her eyes closed. She has always been fascinated with beams of light, the strange shapes, and the colors that have no name.

Finally, and with a great deal of reluctance, she opens her eyes. The beige popcorn ceiling stares back at her indifferently.

Another glorious day.

Jenny sighs, and rolls onto her side. The tiny orange tube of antidepressants waves at her, but she ignores him.

Not today Harold.

She imagines her therapist shaking her head disapprovingly. Dr. Martinez usually advises Jenny against assigning names to non-living objects, but how else is she supposed to feel less alone?

Jenny drags her body out of bed, her heels lifting so she can tiptoe to avoid the cold. She trips on a pair of leggings from last Tuesday, and stumbles into the bathroom. She avoids making eye contact with her mirror. She already knows what Sasha will say: you look tired, your hair’s a mess, blah blah blah.

Jenny sits on the edge of her bathtub, wrapping her arms around her knees. She considers taking a shower, but decides against it. Besides, the last shower she took was only three days ago- and ended up lasting almost two hours. Just like with sleep, Jenny struggles leaving warm, comfortable places.

Instead, she grabs her bathrobe and searches for her slippers, silently chastising herself for misplacing them, as usual. Head down, she hobbles into the living room. Her window beckons to her, but she’s too distracted. Finally she discovers them wedged underneath her sofa.

God damn you, Bernice!

Jenny smiles weakly at her homage to one of her favorite movies, Dodgeball. She can always count on a goofy comedy to crack her up. How many nights has she stayed awake on her couch, laughing out loud to a Ben Stiller romcom? She pats Bernice lovingly, then frowns as she discovers a stain on the cushion. She sighs.

After spending far too long attempting to scrape off day-old chocolate sauce with her fingernail, she looks up.

A flood of white light illuminates her face.

Snow.

Jenny’s jaw drops open. She feels as if she has stepped inside of a snow globe. The sky is cloudless, and baby blue. The tree’s are all are frozen; the alabaster branches reaching upwards as if attempting to kiss the heavens. As far as she can see, the world is blanketed with powder. Thick and heavy, Jenny knows this snow wont be melting anytime soon. She smiles.

Hello, Mom.

As if on cue, the wind picks the snow up from a nearby tree, swirling the flurries wildly so that they greet the frosted glass of the window. It has been three winters since the December that her mother passed, as well as three winters since the birth of Jenny’s Depression. Much to her therapist’s surprise, Jenny always looks forward to this time of year. Her mother had loved the snow, and found winter to be the most magical of the seasons. Jenny can’t help believing that somehow, her mother’s spirit lives inside each delicate flake.

Jenny’s body begins to move. Her mind is playing catch-up, merely observing as her trembling hands reach for her winter coat. She pulls a pair of torn ski pants over her pajamas. Good enough. Her brain sends a message of caution, but she ignores it. If there’s one thing Jenny has learned, it’s to trust the voice that lives in her body. After hastily pulling out her snow boots from the back of the closet, Jenny is out the door, flying down the stairs to the entrance of her apartment.

The door opens right as she’s about to slam into it, and Jenny almost bulldozes over the awkward thirty-something bachelor who lives directly underneath her. He steps back in suprise, his outdated glasses bouncing on his crooked nose.

“Sorry!” Jenny shouts as she careens past him. He tries to say something, but Jenny doesn’t listen. All she can see is White. She races past the parking lot and collapses into the first mound of untouched snow she sees. The snow catches her fall, and embraces her with cold, welcoming arms. Jenny‘s eyes widen with shock as she feels her mom kiss the uncovered skin of her ankles, as well as the back of her neck.

She has never felt more alive.

Laughing, Jenny cups two handfuls of snow and throws them into the air. It could be her imagination, but the blanket of white appears to be sparkling, as if a fairy had graced the snow with a spattering of glitter. She rolls onto her back and stares at the sky, marveling at the warmth from the fog escaping her mouth; the condensation created from the sharp contrast in temperature. She raises her head and squints at the apartment building, looking for her window. Instead, she see’s a pair of glasses peering through the window the next floor down. As soon as her neighbor is spotted, he disappears, and Jenny smiles. She always thought he was cute, with his old-fashioned spectacles and clumsy small talk. In the old days, the days before— Jenny would have talked to him, maybe even invited him out for coffee. But that was when she used to talk to people.

Ask him to get lunch.

A voice comes from within her, and at first she has trouble recognizing it. It’s not Harold’s voice, the bottle of pills who nags her. Not Shayla the Mirror’s voice, who shames her, or Bernice the Sofa, who tells her to stay inside. It’s not even her mom’s voice, a voice she usually only hears when dreaming, or, of course- when it begins to snow.

This voice is her own.

Despite the cold all around her, Jenny’s soul is on fire. As quickly as she dove into the snowbank, now Jenny is flying towards the apartment. She slips on some ice and cries out, marveling at how the voice- so silly, joyful, and excited, like a toddler learning how to talk- is her own. She hurls her body up the stairs, her boots leaving white footprints that dissolve into the ancient carpet as quickly as she leaves them. And then she is at his door, out of breath, with a nose so red even Rudolph would be envious. She raises her hand to knock— and the door swings open.

They stare at each other in shock. Jenny’s chest rises and falls as she struggles to control her breathing. Her neighbor is perfectly still.

“I didn’t mean to bother-”

“I saw you run up,” he interrupts, nervously. “You must really love the snow.”

Jenny smiles.

“I really do.”

And they continue to talk. Both bashful, and a little insecure. Both not used to talking out loud, as well as being heard and understood. As they continue chatting, the tension eases. The ice melts. It doesn’t matter that they’re standing in the doorway, or that they still don’t know each other‘s names. Eventually, he tells her his name is Henry. Eventually, they decide to get a bite nearby. As Henry pulls on his scarf, hat, and mittens, Jenny watches the snow fall outside. She waits for her mom’s voice… but all she can hear is her own.

I love you, Mom.

They walk outside together, no longer strangers. They decide to walk instead of drive, to enjoy the first day of winter. Anyone observing them would think they’d known each other for years- not in the way they talk, but instead how they walk in comfortable silence. Both unaware that they will have their entire lives to make actual conversation.

Meanwhile, the flurries swirl and spiral with the wind, watching over them as they turn the corner, and disappear into a coffee shop. The snow smiles, as only snow can.

I love you, too.