Billy and the Snow

Billy woke up at exactly 3:29 am that bitterly cold winter morning. As his eyes blew open, he quickly realized that the hot chocolate, which he had consumed the night before, warming him from the inside out now needed to be released in a hurry! He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed in one choreographed move. His feet found the warm, sheep’s-wool lined slippers arranged perfectly on the floor on the left side of the bed. Sliding his still toasty warm feet into them, he softly padded to the bathroom just outside his door, which separated his room from his sister’s room. The excitement was building in him as he washed his hands and turned off the light. Darkness enveloped him as he quickly and stealthily made his way to his bedroom. He had always been able to see pretty well in the dark as he quickly found his soft flannel black and green plaid bathrobe. Nearly giddy now, he was fumbling to get the tie around his waist and in front of him in order to make a crisscross knot to keep it together. Hardly able to contain his excitement, he lifted the blind that covered his window. In his increasing exuberance, his elbow hit the lamp, which was sitting on his dresser, next to his window. He froze in panic. He did not wish to wake his mother. Turning to his left, he saw it rocking on its four-inch base. Thoughts swirled though his mind at breakneck speed. If he grabbed the lamp, it would mean letting go of the blind, which in turn, would result in a loud crash as it dropped like a rock to the windowsill. If he held the blind instead, the lamp surely would fall on the top of the dresser, and in all probability, continue its downward roll to the floor, breaking the light bulb, and causing an even louder crash – one that definitely would wake Mother and cause her to come running to his room. Still frozen in time, he held the blind and watched as the lamp rocked east to west, west to east, and east to west again. With each rock, Billy’s heart pounded louder and louder. As the rocking slowly subsided Billy realized that he was holding his breath. When the lamp had finally resumed its normal place on the dresser, Billy exhaled in relief and turned back to the scene outside his window. Sweating slightly as he looked out the window, he gasped at the beauty of the scene before him. Snow had fallen just like the weather guy on the TV had predicted the night before as he was drinking his hot chocolate. It wasn’t much, but Billy didn’t care. He loved the snow. He quickly let the blind down so as to not make any noise, and then checked to make sure his bathrobe was still securely tightened around his waist. Grabbing the disposable camera that his mother had gotten him for Christmas two months before, he silently passed the bathroom, then his sister’s room and finally his parent’s room, as he headed toward the front door. Standing in front of the door now, it took both hands to turn the thumb throw, as it was very tight. Then, he opened the door. His next obstacle was even more daunting. It was the storm door. There was a polished gold handle with a matching lock that was barely smaller than his thumb and index finger on his left hand. Turning the lock, he pushed the door open and stepped outside. The storm door closed softly with a “whoosh” as the weather stripping muffled the sound and allowed the door to close softly.

The night air was cold but exhilarating as Billy stepped out and was enveloped by it. With the porch light off, it was very dark. Inch by inch he felt his way to the end of the patio with one foot leading the other. There was a step somewhere near and he didn’t want to fall off. Finding the edge with his right foot, he softly stepped down. The ground, wet from the precipitation of the day before, was now as slick as a June bug on the lake in the dog days of summer. As he took the next step, his right foot slid forward while his left foot attempted to maintain his balance. His arms went flailing around in giant circles, such as those one does in grade school physical education. He heard the chorus, melodic in his mind from PE. “Go you chicken fat go!” Relieved when he maintained his balance without falling, he took small baby steps down the walkway, being careful not to make such a spectacle of himself again. Billy was all smiles as he made his way to the driveway. Snow was everywhere. There was a single, solitary set of car tracks in the road; the only blemish in an otherwise perfect Winter Wonderland. He looked up and saw the fingernail moon. Clouds were passing by, partially obscuring it. The wind, while not strong, was stealing his warmth, as if by doing so it would warm it own self up. He raised the camera. CLICK. Griiiiiiiiiind, griiiiiiiiiind went the wheel to advance to the next picture. CLICK. Followed by another griiiiiiiiiind, griiiiiiiiiind. Turning to face the house across the street, he saw a streetlight, which illuminated the garbage can that had been set out for that morning’s trash collection. It was short and black. To Billy, it looked like the garbage can was wearing a hat of snow. He raised the camera. CLICK. Turning to his right to take a picture down the road, he raised the camera again. CLUNK. He tried again. CLUNK. He realized he had forgotten to advance the film. Billy was now shivering as the wind had taken all his warmth. Quickly he advanced the film forward so he could take another picture. CLICK. As he tried to advance the film again, the camera went griiiiiiiiiind, griiiiiiiiiind, and griiiiiiiiiind and would not stop. He knew that he had taken the last picture the camera would hold. In a hurry now to get back to the warmth of his house, he carefully, quietly, went back in through the front door. He locked the golden lock on the storm door, then very slowly closed the front door and once more turned the thumb throw while pushing on the door with his right shoulder using all his weight just to get the door locked.

As he walked down the hallway, past his parent’s room, his sister’s room and then the bathroom, he felt like the cat that had just eaten the canary. He took off his robe, hung it up, and then slipped into bed, still holding his camera. He couldn’t wait to take it to the photo store to have it developed so he could show his mother. Then he turned to the beautiful woman who was next to him and heard her say, “My precious husband, sometimes I think you were 8 years old again!”