It's snowing in Seattle tonight - what a treat! Winters here are usually such a miserable dreary affair, wet and windy. A coldness that cuts right through you, sets your teeth chattering and your body huddled and shivering, no matter how much you bundle up. The iron-gray sky drizzles rain for days on end. Miserable depressing bitter cold.
The local news has been urgent, almost panicky with severe weather alerts, warning of something rolling down from Alaska to bring us God only knows what nastiness. And like the rest of Seattle, I immediately jumped into my car. Not to throng the supermarkets and buy up everything I think I might need. Instead I went to the waterfront on Alki Beach, all bundled up in my woolen coat and cashmere scarf, gloves and cap. Having grown up in New York, snow just doesn't faze me. In truth, I rather miss it.
Strolling along the beach with the entire park to myself, I watch a great dark wall rolling ominously inland. The sun is setting, a pale disk low in the sky, swallowed up by the approaching clouds. As evening cloaks the land, the first snow falls. Tiny little flakes, barely visible, dancing on the breeze.
By the time I reach Duwamish Head and turn south, night has fallen, and the Seattle skyline is radiant. Glowing diamonds of light reaching to the heavens, the low clouds reflect a golden halo over the city. Ferries traverse the inky blackness of the bay. It's dark and ever so peaceful. The snow falls heavier and heavier. Big fluffy snowflakes are so thick in the air that it's almost like walking in a cloud. They drift lazily onto the grass under my feet, piled a few inches high already. The air is chilly and brisk, but not nearly as sopping wet as is usually is.
I stop to look out across the water. Streetlamps catch the snowflakes as they settle on the barren branches. The only sound is like a white noise, barely audible, but muffling the night in a blanket of utter quiet. I hear footsteps crunching softly in the snow. Turning, I see a woman in a woolen duffel coat walking my way. Ah! A kindred spirit, out to enjoy the rare Seattle snow in solitude. I wondering if she's from around here; most Seattleites just hunker down when the weather gets even a little bad.
Normally quiet and reserved, I break character and venture "Lovely evening," as she approaches, just glad in knowing that I'm not alone in appreciating the winter show that nature is putting on for us. Would be lovely to have someone to share this special time with.
"Yes, it's beautiful." she replies, as she stops by my side. There's an inflection in her voice that I almost recognize.
"You've come a long way to see it snow in Seattle. Isn't it pretty?"
"It is, and so are you." Okay, she's definitely not local! Nobody around here is as open as she.
"Aww, you're so sweet... And forward too! Hi, I'm Marie."
"Hi Marie, I'm Barbara."
"So glad to meet you, Barbara. I love the sound of your voice, where are you from?"
"I'm from England, and I have good teeth!" She really does, I notice, as she laughs at her own little joke. She has such a warm radiant smile. I can't help but giggle myself.
"I stepped out to watch the snow, would you care to join me?"
"Yes, I would love to." Standing shoulder to shoulder we watch the snow fall on the bay. I show Barbara some of the the features of the skyline. That's the Space Needle, of course... see that row of lights moving over there, that's the Monorail... and that building, the one on the tapered pedestal, that's where I work.
"You're very friendly, Marie, I like you." Oh my! Her openness and friendliness is having an effect on me, it's prying me open a bit too.
"Aww, you're too kind." I can feel myself blushing down to my collarbone. I'm not used to being with anyone as forthcoming as Barbara. What a nice change from the Seattle Ice.
"Thank you darling." This is so new to me, I've never, and I mean never had anybody speak so familiarly, so intimately, after meeting only about five minutes ago. Perhaps it a British thing? I've always thought of them as very reserved, stuffy even. Barbara is certainly proving me wrong.
I shift my weight a little, and as I do my hand brushes against Barbara's. Even though we both are wearing gloves, I feel a little tingle as our fingers brush gently against each other... There's just something about Barbara. Maybe it's just the chill in the winter air, or the romantic snowy night, but I feel my cheeks flushing.
She's so warm and so engaging, there's something that's drawing me to her but I don't know what. I feel like I want to bring her close to me, but a little apprehensive, too. I've been so hurt before. Do I throw myself open, or shut myself off and be safe? I'm paralyzed with uncertainty. Praying that I'm not too forward, I lace my fingers with hers.
Cautiously turning my face toward Barbara's, fearing to see some sign that she's awkward or uncomfortable. She hesitates a little, without resisting. I feel compelled and a little indecisive. Is she playing with me? I don't think so; she looks so contented. I squeeze her hand a little more snugly, and turn to look in her eyes.
"You getting cold, Barbara?" her cheeks are rosy from the chill.
"Yes, I need to be warm."
"I know a nice quiet wine bar close by, want to try?"
"Mmm, that sounds delightful." My heart almost jumps in my throat as I feel the first little glimmer of hope.
"Careful hon, the walk's slippery," Holding Barbara's hand, we walk in the grass instead of the pavement. Thank goodness we're both wearing sturdy winter boots. Slowly walking back to where I parked, silently enjoying each others company. Across the street and on a corner tucked into a turn-of-the-century neighborhood, a warm cheerful glow emanates from a window of a brick building, beckoning us. Inside the bar is lovely and warm. The light is low and intimate, candles and little white holiday lights strung along the walls. The tables and the bar are filled with happy couples, their quiet conversation making it just loud enough that we can't be overheard.
"Right, let's have that booth over in the corner!" Barbara doffs her coat hat and gloves, handing them to me to hang it on the coat hook, and for the first time I really see her. Oh my, she's beautiful. She's a little shorter than me but so much nicer a body. Long straight honey-blond hair cascades past her shoulders and catches highlights from the lights. We settle in to the soft leather banquette and take our time looking over the extensive list. My eyes are drawn to her blue chamois work shirt, noticing that certain buttons near the top are a little strained, and I'm having a hard time thinking about wine.
"You choose a bottle, Barbara, whatever you like." There's so much to choose from and I'd love nothing more than to sample the wine list until we either close down the place or pass out drunk.
"Ohh, this looks interesting," choosing the Hochar, a red from the Bekaa Valley. Handing the menus to our server, he returns after a few minutes with the wine and noshes of marinated olives and hot salty nuts.
