“Winter Snow”
Listen to this chapter, “Snow-Fire.”
Another short story attempts to express a mysterious universal truth, loosely based on actual events that seem to have taken place in the winter of 1961-62, but altered with a liberal amount of artistic license.
The sky was gray, a monotonous dull gray, and gradually growing darker and darker. Ominous black clouds hovered close to the horizon and shut out the sun. The room was chilly yet filled with a stuffy stickiness that always precedes a storm. It was the kind of day that made one want to sleep yet feel very restless.
Allen sat alone in the twilight and gazed out the window. As the lights of the city flickered on, the world seemed to awaken. The clouds held back their burden no longer, and soon the cars splashed in the rain on the streets of Riverdale. It was a change from the gray day, and now Allen stretched every muscle and drew in a deep breath.
Julie, too, sat alone, her dark curls hanging loosely around her face. She glanced up, watching the clock’s hands moving slowly upward. Then she looked out the window into the damp blackness.
“Grandpa,” she called, “I’ve got your keys.” Then, throwing on a scarf, she dashed out into the night.
Dr. Emory’s house was warm and the fireplace cheery and a most welcome destination. Allen’s friends were already gathered in the luxurious living room when he arrived. All seemed to be engaged in gay conversation as they waited for the party to begin.
As Allen’s gaze wandered across the room, it fell on Julie. She sat, lovely and quiet, with a sort of forlorn look. But that held no meaning for Allen. He had known her long enough to almost read her mind. He knew she waited only for one thing—him. Yes, there was Victor. But he hadn’t been around for quite a while. Allen believed that the dim vision of Victor had almost faded from Julie’s mind.
At once her eyes met his across the crowded room, and in a moment he was by her side. Long ago, Allen and Julie were childhood sweethearts. There were the silly giggles and the little love notes and the “Can I carry your books?” that are part of every teenage romance. But like a beautiful and tender wild rose, young and first love has an end.
Now a boy’s awkward limbs were stretching into adulthood, and the figure of a tiny young woman sat in an overstuffed chair. Allen and Julie had both matured and were maturing. But was there a chance that even now a new and deeper love would flourish? Surely Julie could not, or would not, forget Victor so soon.
But, Allen reasoned, has she not responded favorably to my every move? Julie was not the kind of girl to toss a man’s heart about like a ship at sea. Her affections were strong. Only with her soft lips had she not expressed, “I still love you, Allen.”
The empty night faded soon into the morning, lifeless as the morning before—a blank gray day pulled from eternity. There was the usual work to be done, the normal routine to follow. Mechanically as the old clock’s hands that whirled around its face, the day sped on with only a moment of gold and pink fire to separate the pale skies from the ebony night.
Suddenly Julie looked into Allen’s face. Twenty-four hours ago he had also been by her side and then vanished into the night. She gazed now into his deep blue eyes.
She saw a smiling face, turned not to her, but to Sylvia. That’s the way it had been for such a long time. Allen did not change so quickly. Sylvia was beautiful, there was no doubt. Yet, had not Allen shown every kindness to Julie, and had he not held her hand so delicately and with such meaning?
Allen saw now in her eyes an image of a girl, a vision which could not readily fade. Her lips were fire, and he resisted no longer. Julie felt she had been fashioned for Allen’s arms. Perhaps, of course, it was a rich and lovely friendship and nothing more. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it wasn’t.
For only a moment they lingered in the embrace. Then whispering, “Goodbye, Julie,” Allen disappeared into the gray night.
Morning came again, as mornings will do, dry and clear; and it was another workday. Fate had arranged for Allen and Julie to share the same means of transportation to and from their daily labors in another place, another time…
This morning, for the first time in a week, they could see the sun above the eastern horizon. The soft hexagonal flakes had fallen silently from the night skies, and now the city was a world of white. Happiness reigned in everyone’s heart, especially in Allen’s and Julie’s. Oh, the wonder, the romance, the ecstasy of it all!
In Highview, where Allen and Julie were headed, the light snow had melted in the California sunshine; but the grass was green, and the skies were blue. Yes, everything had returned to the normal way of life.
The day was passing quickly, and the noon whistle blew. It found Allen at the height of happiness, talking to the lovely little miss who had stolen his young heart. And Julie was gay, coquettishly smiling at the boy beside her. Allen’s and Julie’s eyes met once across the crowded hall—for Allen and Sylvia stood not far from Victor and Julie—and both seemed to say, “Thanks for playing my little game. Goodbye, it was great fun.”