Fresh Snow (a calorie free post)

From my bedroom window I see the town blanketed with a deep, fresh snow and I can’t imagine how I’m going to get my three-cylinder Geo Metro out of my steep driveway. As I float awake I remember I left the car parked on the street, so all I have to do is dig it out, which turns out to be a much greater task than I picture while I’m still snuggled under the covers.

I hadn’t been home in months. We agreed to meet for dinner at a halfway point for each of us. You were planning on spending the weekend in New York, and I would stay at our house.  I was anxious about seeing you; the past year had been awful.  As scary as the prospect of being alone was, the thought of reconciling was even more frightening.  I could tell you were having regrets about your actions, your choices, and the damage you’d done to us, I was afraid of your apologies. I was afraid of my need.

I have no idea what we ate, unusual for me. Dinner was awkward and stiff. We were polite and cordial; I was trying to hold on to my resolve, you were trying to hide your desperation.  We both knew there was a snowstorm coming; we also knew we wouldn’t see each other again for a long time.  As I walked to my car I was feeling the relief of having gotten through this, and then, as if you were unable to stop yourself you walked over to me, put your hands on the collar of my coat and asked if you could turn around, and come home with me.

In that moment I knew it was too late to turn around. I felt my nervousness and fear melt away, and it was easy for me to say no. I said it without equivocation, or hesitation.  I was crystal clear, I was done, and turning around was not an option. I felt a bit of sympathy as you tried to work your charm on me, but my clarity had inoculated me. I was unmoved, and in a hurry to get home before the storm, to be away from you, to see my things, my cat, my books, my pots and pans, all the things I loved enough to have taken with me move after move. They were all still there, though I was not.

The snow started falling after midnight, long after you would have arrived at your father’s house, and I was glad you’d gotten there safely. I never wished you ill, even at the worst of it. Even as you betrayed me, walked out on me, raged at me for trying to hold you, I only wished you to turn back into the person I’d fallen in love with. My error was that the person you were now was the same person you’d always been, and I had refused to notice. Like most people who are seduced by the deeply charming, and deeply wounded, I was willingly blinded by your flattery and attention.

I finally get out of bed and look out at the beautiful, clear morning, and clean, fresh snow. The plows have already come by, and now my little car is buried under more than the two feet of fresh snow. Thanks to the plows, all I can see of it is the silver roof peeking through. I will be shoveling for hours, but I feel more energy than I have in a very long time.