But this time around, I can’t help but feel a little twinge of sadness.
Because, you see, this past winter was the first time, since I’ve been here, that the city which I live in was graced with snow! It was a particularly cold, dreary day and towards the evening it was filled with small bursts of hail that showered down unexpectedly, and then stopped just as unexpectedly. The weathermen had said it would snow so naturally no one was expecting it to actually do so.
That night I was conked out on the couch, telling myself that I should go to bed soon, but instead, frying my brain cells needlessly with a viewing of Iron Man. (I know, terribly bad taste, but it’s amazing the depths I will sink to simply on account of laziness). However, the movie came to a point where it was too unbearable even for me, and much too ridiculous to sit in on even with the excuse of laziness (here I speak about the appearance of Iron Man’s arch enemy, the – wait for it – Iron Monger. I kid you not. I wish I was.) So, following this travesty, I stalked off to my bedroom in complete indignation, and anger at myself for having wasted an hour or more so on such a banal film. Before throwing myself into bed I noticed a text from my friend. It consisted of only one word: “Snow!”
I gasped, ran over to the window, pulled back the curtains, and began squealing like a five-year-old on Christmas.
Outside everything was white. The sky was dark, throwing down heap upon heap of this icy, white fluff; and in their measured intervals, the lampposts tried to feebly project their own light, but knowing that tonight it was the snow’s turn to twirl, leap, dance and soak up the attention. Shouts of laughter, whoops of glee could be heard, the wind carrying the sounds over several blocks. Cars drove past slowly, with the passengers inside waving happily at us, laughing at our excitement. It felt as if the whole world was blanketed by a magic that was all the more fantastical and enchanting in its ability to bring everyone together.
There was one moment, when I saw our mailbox. There was a newspaper sticking out that we must have forgotten to bring in. The mailbox seemed to have grown in height, its roof accompanied by two inches of thick snow. And another layer, slightly lower had fallen on the bit of paper that was jutting out of the slot. And that, that small thing, of the snow on the mailbox and the paper, seemed to make everything all the more real to me. Something triggered inside my head, and I began giggling hysterically, shouting at my siblings to see the snow! The snow on the mail box! Wasn’t it amazing?! No doubt they thought I was mad. And perhaps I was. If it is possible to be mad with glee, mad with happiness, with joy shooting through every one of your nerves that you don’t know what to do, don’t have any choice but to simply jump, keep jumping and laugh as you have never laughed before.
The magic evaporated, taking the joy with it. And it felt as if a friend had left. And that I would never see them again.