The Perfect Snow Angel The Christmas snow swirls down cold, numbing her face, as she raises her arms to the cold, distant sky like the perfect snow angel. She smiles faintly, remembering the way she and her sister lay down in the snow when it fell, perfect, light, and powdery, and made their snow angels. Of course when the sun gained power in the sky the snow turned to wet slush and became murky and dirty, and the wetness seeped into their clothes and they had to go inside. A siren begins to wail, somewhere far below from within the tangle of dark city streets, the way they did the hellish night that Juliet went on a trip beyond the farthest of stars, to galaxies unseen and worlds unknown. Her mind wanders, flying back through all the murky years on the wings of an angel . . . . .or at least something that flies. Christmas past, with all the presents laid out beautiful under the tree. Once, she lived in a house that was high and white and cold, and on Christmas Eve they turned off the lights and watched the glowing jewellike lights of the tall, deep green fir tree shining off of the cold, white-tiled floors, pinpricks of brightness in the dark. Then on Christmas morning the entire family gathered in the house and the cold, queer magic of Christmas Eve was dispelled, replaced by the simple, ancient magic of family and togetherness. Comfortable, lazy squabbling, too much food; the mixed smells of a cooking ham and several pies, and eggnog mixed with a dash of vodka, cousins jumping on beds, and lying on top of a low, wooden table burning scraps of wrapping paper in a candle-flame, comparing presents. The bright jingle of a neurotic kitten's collar as it raced down the hallway, white-stockinged legs a blur. Other Christmases too, Christmases hot and yellowy-orange and dark, filled with strange smells and leering faces. No more eggnog with the vodka now, and one April afternoon the purring full-grown cat Boots slain instantly in a routine maddened rage and thrown out of an open window, its body lying strange and twisted like a carelessly tossed-aside rag doll or a marionette whose strings have been cut. She remembers all these things, gazing out over the lighted city, and her mind fleetingly touches on other things; of pain and loud, terrible, violent noise, and also of something horrible and hot and unknown that brings pain to her still, remembering. It was the loss of the poor unfortunate Boots that hurt her the most, though. When her life became too strange for her to comprehend, she turned to other things. She walked on walls. A relatively low wall, but narrow, behind a huge empty lot, was the first. She walked across many more, funneling her mind, all of her strange emotions, into the single, unbroken, unending line of the wall before her . . . . .around it there was nothing, the world fell away, into boundless space. She paced the edge of her school's roof, she trotted gaily along the rail of a high bridge, she struck fear into the hearts of those watching — but as long as the only thing before her, her whole life, consisted of that thin, straight, neverending line, she did not feel as if the world was about to swallow her whole and regurgitate her like the wolf of the Brothers Grimm. As she grew older things changed, improved, maybe. She met Kevin, and she grew to love him, and he her. She had already left her house, the scene of the horrible yellowy Christmases, and was living in a tiny apartment. She had managed to graduate from high school, but for her there existed no bright dreams of college. And so she worked in a department store. But her life was happy, and good. Kevin was a medical student, of a rich family. He took her for a ride in a horse-drawn sleigh on Christmas, and restored to her was the bright and simple happiness of the long-ago Christmas mornings in the high, cold, white house. She also met Juliet, the perfume girl in the department store. She had never met anyone quite like Juliet before. They were best friends instantly and did everything together. She had friends now, and a job, and an apartment, far away from her detested blood relations, and the most wonderful boyfriend anyone could possibly wish for. She felt that her true family was here, in this great city, and not in the dim, yellowish ghost-land of the past. She fondly recalled her daydreams, shared of course with Juliet, of marrying Kevin, world famous doctor, helping children and caring for the homeless — she had a great empathy for the unfortunate —, living in a great white mansion with the floor tiled in great, smooth white tiles, a foot square. And Juliet would live quite nearby of course, and they would all be together, forever, and grow old in this way, and happy. On Christmas Eve she would have a huge, deep-green fir tree in the living room, lit with a myriad of twinkling lights, and she and Kevin and Juliet and Juliet's rich, kind husband — for of course Juliet would have a rich, kind husband — and all of their children would stand around the tree and be together and simple and happy, forever. But then one night she walked in to Juliet's apartment for a late-night movie marathon to find Juliet, of the chocolatey-dark eyes and teasing smile, who seemed to sparkle when she laughed, lying cold and still on the floor of the bathroom, tiled all in white, with an empty bottle beside her. When the paramedics came they found her sobbing, rocking back and forth and holding Juliet's limp hand, pleading with her friend to wake up. Juliet's heart stopped on the way to the hospital, and all she could think was how strange and diminished Juliet seemed, no longer laughing her rich, startling laugh; her eyes would never more sparkle as she whirled, short dark hair shining, and smiling so as to bring light into the whole wide world. Part of her died when Juliet did, part of her was lost forever into a foreign abyss when Juliet soared quietly away on the wings of whatever drug she had chosen for this trip, and had gone so far into unreachable, distant worlds of violet mist and shadow that she could never go back. Two weeks later, when the blue car hit Kevin and threw him across the street, and the city bus could not stop in time, she could not cry, could not feel, only sat cold and pale and distant, her eyes staring off into spaces unknowable. Her old life was long gone, and the new and wonderful life seemed to have frozen into a bright and wonderful picture and then, like a dropped glass-ball ornament, shattered into a chaos of glittering, brittle shards. The laughing dark-eyed Juliet had gone and taken her soul with her, and Kevin had died in a glorious profusion of red brightness, the color of Christmas. He was wearing green scrubs. She looked out over the city. In all the parks and along certain sidewalks the trees were strung with sparkly white lights that shone and lit the night. Faintly church bells could be heard, and feelings of joy floated up from the great city on the cold wind that whipped her hair out from beneath her hat. The siren had stopped, and looking down at the street thirty-seven stories below she thought with an odd sort of satisfaction that the snow along the sidewalks was still white tonight, even though it was city snow. It was snowing now, but lightly, beautiful, perfect Christmas snow, a few powdery flakes whirling down from above. It was the perfect Christmas Eve . . . . .suddenly she thought, with perfect clarity, that this Christmas Eve was high and white and cold, glittering with lights and yet dark and strange and magical at the same time. She raised her arms once more, like the perfect snow angel, and thought of the people that had watched as she danced swiftly and easily along the narrow ledges far, far above. There would be no watchers now, she thought calmly, no one would witness the Wall-Walker's final, greatest performance. She looked up, preparing her mind before leaping like a joyous dolphin into those distant, violet-litten seas, before staining the bright pure snow far below with the beautiful colors of Christmas, the most merry Christmas of all. All she could see was black, black, black, cold distant skies. And the swirling, incredibly beautiful snowflakes. She suddenly realized that she was crying, and the most intense, unbelievable feeling of almost heart-breaking joy filled her. This Christmas Eve . . . .was cold, and high, and white. There were stars, too, and one star, one star bright beyond all . . . .it seemed to be almost violet-white in color and it shone . . . .it shone down on her like a benevolent denizen of some far and magnificent heaven. She raised her hands again and stretched like a cat, her face shining with a glorious radiance. She would live, and her life would be a great and wonderful thing, for on this Christmas Eve she was reborn, and cold tears of simple happiness shone on her cheeks, for she knew that Juliet and the kind Kevin were with her, and so were all the others she had loved, and lost. She did not see the security guard behind her, who, horrified, had rushed forward in an attempt to drag her back from the edge. And, lost in her rapture, balanced on the tips of her toes, when she felt the touch upon her shoulder the shock cut through her simple moment of joy and she whirled frantically to face the unexpected intruder, backing away, but there was nothing for her to back on to, and no more firm space upon which to whirl. And so like the long-gone Boots, who once jingled merrily down the hallways filled with the joy and vibrancy of life, she fell limp and broken, like a marionette whose strings have been cut, to lie peaceful and cold and still on the beautiful crimson and white Christmas snow covering the sidewalk far below; the perfect snow angel, still and white and eternally cold.
Copyright © 2001 Wolfa |