Snow Angels

It came silently in the night but not without warning. And now she marveled at how quickly and completely the interloper had overtaken the landscape. The intruder’s blanket of white was indeed quite a sight. But how such beauty could cause so much angst for her she deemed bitterly ironic.

Her teenage children were ecstatic that their school had closed due to the winter storm. But she had no reason to celebrate. She’d be expected to work, albeit from home, while her offspring would undoubtedly provide a background of noise and endless interruptions she’d have to overcome. On top of that, she would need to find both the time and the energy to remove the newly arrived snow from her driveway. Of course, any reasonable parent might delegate this chore to the house’s other occupants. But the reality was that her once endearing children had morphed into surly teens. She wasn’t sure that it would be worth the trouble to badger them incessantly only to be disappointed in the end.

Thoughts such as these swirled around in her head as she lay her palms against the glass, feeling the chill seeping in through the pane. She watched the elderly woman across the street standing knee deep in a powdery drift, the first sign that the neighborhood was coming to life. The pensioner stumbled forward, landing on all fours, but thankfully managed to retreat back inside.

Returning to her own situation, she steeled herself. Wasn’t it her job to set expectations for her children in order for them to become good citizens and responsible adults? She sighed. It would be so much easier to avoid conflict rather than face them directly. But she was supposed to be the head of this household. She needed to act like she was in charge.

Without any more delay, she sucked in her breath and marched into the family room where her dynamic duo had clustered. “I need you both to pitch in today,” she announced in an authoritative voice. “I have to work.  I can’t do everything.” Her daughter, Sylvie, was putting on nail polish. Her son, Reggie, was scrolling on his phone. “Are you listening to me?” she asked, annoyed.  

“Just tell us what you want,” snapped Sylvie.

“Yeah.  We heard you,” said Reggie, not even bothering to look up from his screen.  

She clenched her teeth and continued, “I need you to clear the driveway. You can use the snow blower.”

“Oh, brother,” muttered Sylvie, rolling her eyes.

“It’s our day off,” complained Reggie.

“It would be greatly appreciated if you contributed to this household. You don’t do much else to help around here,” she retorted.

“We get your point,” Sylvie said begrudgingly.

“All right. All right, already,” Reggie conceded.

“We’ll get to it,” Sylvie assured her.

“Yeah.” Reggie chimed in. “Don’t worry.”

She wasn’t sure if she could trust their words. But, at any rate, the discussion appeared to be over. She decided to behave as if she had won, so she squared her shoulders and proceeded to the study where she hastily shut the door and barricaded herself inside. 

The sound of plows and other winter equipment punctuated the air up and down the street. She blocked out the noise and thrust herself into her work, trying to placate a boss whom she was convinced she would never be able to satisfy. Eventually, her stomach growling, she pulled herself away and traipsed into the kitchen. The house, she noticed, was remarkably quiet. “Sylvie?  Reggie?” she called out. “Is anyone here?” No one answered.

She peered out the window, spying the youngsters from next door flapping their arms on the ground. A decade ago, Sylvie and Reggie too had done this, leaving snow angels behind in their wake. “Come see! Come see!” they had cried excitedly, grabbing her arms. “Do you like it?” they had asked, pointing at their creations. She smiled at the memory. It felt like eons ago when they had been so eager to please her.  

Stuffing a handful of crackers in her mouth, she ventured outside where she found the snow blower abandoned in the middle of the driveway. She shook her head, not entirely surprised that the task hadn’t been completed. She adjusted the choke and attempted to start the machine herself, but it wouldn’t muster more than a click. Puzzled, she fumbled around switching knobs and pressing buttons before finally checking the fluids. “Huh?” she said to herself in disbelief. She had filled the gas tank only two days prior when the forecast had first predicted the snowfall. She scoffed, knowingly. Leave it to her children to waste so much fuel fooling around that the tank would empty before they could get the job done.  She wheeled the snow blower into the garage. She would have to do this the old-fashioned way.

The exertion from shoveling snow felt like a means of self-flagellation. She believed the narcissistic beings she was raising were a direct reflection of her poor parenting. In addition to her failed marriage, it was yet another thing she had fallen short of in her life. 

The physical labor would constitute her punishment.  

When the sun began to set, she leaned on her shovel and surveyed the scene. A thin coating of snow still appeared in places over the asphalt, but it would suffice. She’d be able to get her car out in the morning, and that was all that really mattered.  

She was about to go inside when a brightly colored scarf emerged from behind an embankment. Wisps of thin, grey hair decorated the face, and the torso was bent over at the waist. She recognized the figure as that of the elderly woman from across the street.

The old lady spoke in a frail, shaky voice. “Your children – they are so thoughtful.”

“I’m sorry?”

The old woman’s eyes lit up. “They were so sweet –  clearing my driveway with their machine like they did. It gives me hope for this new generation.” 

The conversation was brief and when it had ended, she put her shovel away and trudged across the snow. Stopping short at the neighboring yard, she stood, studying the snow angels lying at her feet. The cold temperatures had hardened the snow, leaving the bodies with a crusty surface. But a sliver of gold now shone from the receding sun and crowned the wings in glory.

Robin Blasberg's stories often make connections in unanticipated ways.  Expect the unexpected because clever twists and surprise endings are trademarks of her work.  Her fiction has been published in Stupefying Stories, Scribes*MICRO*Fiction, Story Sanctum, and Sunlight Press.  Her plays are available from Big Dog Publishing and YouthPLAYS.  

Image credit: Kelly Wright via D-ALLE, Ideogram, and Midjourney