The snow packed thick across the rolling hills. It clung to the trees. There was a solitary in the stationary world outside. The trees slowly appeared to slowly turn as they approached and passed. The muted daylight caused a melancholy to settle. Occasionally, life approached in the form of two round lights with strained yellow, strained from trying to pierce through road-dirtied and ice-glazed headlight glass.
The Tupperware box with mom's cookies rattled occasionally from a bump on the otherwise smooth road across Idaho paid by federal dollars. "Love you, Amber. Come back home soon," said the red post-it note on it. I had nestled into the driver's seat for a long drive. My left foot was on the seat under me. Feeling my knee against my chest gave me comfort, whenever thoughts of my dad welled up in me.
"I'm fine" were his last words. I had held his hands. My insides were tearing up in me. He had always held his feelings inside. A man whom I had known my whole life. A man who had taken life always stoically: "Some years it rains. Some years it don't. You still gots to plow the field. Ain't no mopping helping you out, daughter." I think it's the only way how he could survive the hardships of being a farmer. He didn't have the 401k and paid sick days that my charter school position has. I understand.
Yet, right after those words, the last breath had gone out of him. His eyes opened wide. There had been so much white on those big eyes. His mouth had quivered. Utter panic had across his face. Not a single sound had come out of his empty lungs to tell us about it. The bones in my wrists had felt like hit by lightning. I had thought they'd burst. I had been shaking. And the moment had past.
Every five minutes that scene played again in my head. And then my gaze went out to the wide open landscape, drifted through the snow. The somber half-light was comforting, like it recognized my mood. I'd feel fine for a while, letting my gaze run among the bare trees with the sugar powder cover. There was barely a car to pay attention to. So, I could let myself fall deeply into my inner world. And like puke rearing up from the stomach, I was mentally back in the hospice, sitting on that brown, thinly upholstered dime-a-dozen chair.
At some point in the evening, I still remember how the light felt like it would be the last half-light before it'd completely disappear, I turned onto one of those little unmarked side roads that led to a remote home, a quarry, or nothing at all. The tires started silently crunching the packed snow on the side road, as I left the wet, salty highway. The road twisted a little upslope to a loose stand of pine trees.
The moment felt surreal. The whole life is a smoothly tuned machine. A strict regimen of getting up, blow drying the hair, preparing for annual teacher evaluation, getting drinks with friends. And then I had rare moments in my life, where I'd stepped outside of the machine and watched that finely tuned life of mine from the outside. The life didn't care that I had paused. We'd both gaze at each other. And I'd realize that I could be doing anything. I could simply not show up to teach the next biology lesson about ant colonies. I could instead book a flight to kayak the Bering Sea. I had $600 for the flight in the bank account would else could stop me.
That moment, I became aware of my breath. Instead of chasing thoughts and disciplining myself to hold onto plans, my lungs were expanding. I was sitting in an idling car with the windshield wipers slowly swiping left and right. And I had to decide what to do next. Every little movement, if I'd scratch my nose or decide to go back into the machine and return to the highway was a decision that I had to make.
It was a shock to my stomach to wake up from a slumber that I had been in. I noticed the blond strand of hair in my face. It had been there for hours in the car. I hadn't noticed. I looked out at the snow. I recognized that I had dreamed for hours about the feeling of soft snow, its fluffiness, its innocence. Yet, I had never dared to leave my route to actually touch it and experience it. "What is wrong with me?" echoed through my head. An urgency awoke in me to get up and disappear into the snow.
I pulled my warm, blue wool sweater with the white stitched patterns over my head. My breasts had always been large. It made hugging people awkward. I was here by myself. My big, plain bra followed. Being young, the breasts were in a beautiful teardrop shape. My belly was a bit chubby. I unbuttoned the jeans and squiggled out of them in the tight space between the driver's seat and the steering wheel. I pulled the pink, long socks off. The white pair of silk panties was the last bit that rolled into a bunch and landed on the mud mats of the car, where winter grime had been carried in.
I swung the door open and ran into the snow. I was free. A cold draft immediately grabbed onto my sides. As my steps touched the snow of the road, I rushed to get off the side into the soft snow. With deliciousness, my feet sank deeply into the fluffy snow. My ankles disappeared. My feet didn't feel cold touching the frozen ice crystals. It was more like a sharp pain that stung with each step. Yet, I moved fast. So, my feet only touched for a moment. I was chasing that feeling of softness of innocence that snow evokes.
I got under a pine tree. I looked in awe at the winter landscape in front of me. It was all mine. The rapid movement had gotten my heart beating. The rising heat gave me a new confidence running into the snow. A sense of impending freezing was vaguely settling in at the distance in my mind. A delight of freedom caressed my skin all over my body from being naked. There was so much going on inside of me.
Childhood memories of happiness and play set me into another state of mind. I lurched forward to dive into the snow, to embrace the snow, yes to make snow angels. My mouth was spitting out a wad of snow. My boobs were pressing deep mounds into the snow. My arms and legs were swinging wide. Flakes of snow were melting into water drops on my warm skin from the inside of the car.
I got up with the rush of joy and a sense that the cozy warmth from the car was leaving my body. I wanted to go deeper. I didn't merely want to dip my toes into snow freedom. I wanted to go for it. So, I stepped deeper into the snow drifts, leaving a trail of foot steps behind me.
